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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Mrs.   Warren  Gregory 


A.  (iENSOUL,  BOOKSELLER, 

Ml  M.Hit.u'mK-ry  St.,  San  Francisco. 


Ofr 

/ 


POEMS. 


POEIS 


HENRY     PETERSON 


PHILADELPHIA : 
J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO 

1863. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  by 
HENRY  PETERSON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District 
of  Pennsylvania. 


GIFT 


TO 
THE    MEMBERS 


OP    THAT 


HARD    WORKING.     POORLY    REWARDED 

EDITORIAL   PROFESSION, 
WHO    MAKE    SO    MANY    REPUTATIONS 

FOR    OTHERS, 
AND    SO    FEW    FOR    THEMSELVES, 

THIS     BOOK 
IS    RESPECTFULLY    DEDICATED 


BY 


ONE  OF  THE  FRATERNITY. 


M898574 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Lyon, 9 

Awake,  my  Soul ! 12 

Abra's  Vision,  15 

Cavalry  Song,  .'. 17 

My  Little  Daughter, 19 

Hope  and  Pray, 21 

After  the  Battle,  23 

Fall  Gently,  Gentle  Rain, 26 

Song, 27 

Song, 29 

The  Golden  Spring, 31 

The  Young  Farmer's  Song, 33 

The  Soldier's  Story,  35 

Song  for  the  Times,...., 39 

The  Coming  Age,  41 

"Only  a  Woman's  Hair," 44 

Life's  Changes,  49 

To  Abraham  Lincoln, 51 

Stanzas, 52 

To  Isadora, 55 

To  Isadora, 0 56 

The  Old  Poets, 58 

(vii) 


yiii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

To  Mary, 59 

Lines,   GO 

To  C.  M.  C., 02 

To  Laura; G4 

The  Wandering  Jew,   65 

Sonnet,  GO 

The  Power  of  Beauty, 70 

The  Exile's  Address  to  America,  73 

Isabel,  7G 

Life, 79 

"Will's  Rock,"  ." 82 

The  Vision,   , 84 

Lines, 97 

Laurel  Hill,  98 

Words, 108 

Thirst  Not  for  Iowa,  109 

"  When  men  forsake  the  student's  bower  for  gold,"  Ill 

After  a  Lecture, 112 

Memory,  113 

Patience, 114 

Cora,  115 

To , 118 

The  Eivals,... .„„ 119 


POEMS. 


LYON. 

Sing,  bird,  on  green  Missouri's  plain, 

Thy  saddest  song  of  sorrow  ; 
Drop  tears,  oh  clouds,  in  gentlest  rain 

Ye  from  the  winds  can  borrow ; 
Breathe  out,  ye  winds,  your  softest  sigh, 

Weep,  flowers,  in  dewy  splendor, 
For  him  who  knew  well  how  to  die, 

But  never  to  surrender. 

Uprose  serene  the  August  sun 

Upon  that  day  of  glory ; 
Upcurled  from  musket  and  from  gun 

The  war-cloud  grey  and  hoary. 
It  gathered  like  a  funeral  pall, 

Now  broken  and  now  blended, 
Where  rang  the  bugle's  angry  call, 

And  rank  with  rank  contended. 

(9) 


10  LYON. 

Four  thousand  men,  as  brave  and  true 

As  e'er  went  forth  in  daring, 
Upon  the  foe  that  morning  threw 

The  strength  of  their  despairing. 
They  feared  not  death — men  bless  the  field 

That  patriot  soldiers  die  on — 
Fair  Freedom's  cause  was  sword  and  shield, 

And  at  their  head  was  Lyon ! 

Their  leader's  troubled  soul  looked  forth 

From  eyes  of  troubled  brightness ; 
Sad  soul !   the  burden  of  the  North 

Had  pressed  out  all  its  lightness. 
He  gazed  upon  the  unequal  fight, 

His  ranks  all  rent  and  gory, 
And  felt  the  shadows  close  like  night 

Round  his  career  of  glory. 

"  General,  come  lead  us!"  loud  the  cry 

From  a  brave  band  was  ringing — 
"  Lead  us,  and  we  will  stop,  or  die, 

That  battery's  awful  singing." 
He  spurred  to  where  his  heroes  stood, 

Twice  wounded — no  wound  knowing — 
The  fire  of  battle  in  his  blood 

And  on  his  forehead  glowing. 


LYON.  11 

Oh,  cursed  for  aye  that  traitor's  hand, 

And  cursed  that  aim  so  deadly, 
Which  smote  the  bravest  of  the  land, 

And  dyed  his  bosom  redly  j — 
Serene  he  lay  while  past  him  prest 

The  battle's  furious  billow, 
As  calmly  as  a  babe  may  rest 

Upon  its  mother's  pillow. 

So  Lyon  died !  and  well  may  flowers 

His  place  of  burial  cover, 
For  never  had  this  land  of  ours 

A  more  devoted  lover. 
Living,  his  country  was  his  bride, 

His  life  he  gave  her  dying ; 
Life,  fortune,  love — he  naught  denied 

To  her  and  to  her  sighing. 

Rest,  Patriot,  in  thy  hill-side  grave, 

Beside  her  form  who  bore  thee ! 
Long  may  the  land  thou  died'st  to  save 

Her  bannered  stars  wave  o'er  thee ! 
Upon  her  history's  brightest  page, 

And  on  Fame's  glowing  portal, 
She'll  write  thy  grand,  heroic  rage, 

And  grave  thy  name  immortal ! 


AWAKE,  MY  SOUL! 

Awake,  my  soul !  nor  longer  pine 

In  foolish,  weak  regret ; 
Go  forth,  and  in  a  path  divine 

Thy  little  griefs  forget. 
Take  down  thy  sword,  whose  blade  too  long 

Hath  felt  corroding  breath, 
And  battle  do  with  hoary  Wrong, 

The  stern  ally  of  Death. 

Awake,  my  soul ! 

Lo !  Truth  lies  prostrate  at  the  gate 

Where  Falsehood  reigns  in  might ; 
Corrupt  are  Pulpit,  Bar  and  State, 

They  will  not  plead  her  right. 
Do  thou,  with  weapons  pure,  the  walls 

Of  bloated  Wrong  assail, 
Until  her  haughty  rampart  falls, 

As  fell  the  idol  Baal. 

Be  strong,  my  soul ! 
(12) 


AWAKE,    MY    SOUL.  13 

Let  robbery  have  its  hated  name, 

Liars  with  liars  herd ; 
For  thee,  eat  not  the  bread  of  shame, 

And  be  thy  oath  thy  word. 
Let  others  crawl  their  crooked  course, 

Or  hunt  like  wolves  by  night ; 
Walk  thou  erect,  and  shame,  perforce, 

Their  darkness  with  thy  light. 
Be  pure,  my  soul ! 

The  woes  of  poverty  allay, 

That  scourge  with  misery  rife  ; 
And  bid  wealth  mend  its  spendthrift  way, 

For  what  it  wastes  is  life. 
That  State  alone  is  truly  free, 

Where  all  men  may  compare  ; 
Then  favor  thou  that  liberty, 

That  gives  to  each  his  share. 
Be  just,  my  soul ! 

For  them  that  steal  let  there  be  locks, 

For  idlers  wrath  and  scorn  ; 
But  muzzle  not  the  mighty  ox 

That  treadeth  out  the  corn. 
No  better  and  no  surer  right 

To  earth's  increase  is  found, 

2 


14  AWAKE,    MY    SOUL. 

Than  his  whose  arm,  with  brawny  might, 
Hath  wrung  it  from  the  ground. 
Yes,  just,  my  soul ! 

Then  soul,  go  forth,  and  pine  no  more, — 

With  gloomy  thoughts  have  done  ; 
Jesus  his  cross  in  silence  bore, 

Thy  woes  to  His  are  none. 
A  champion  be  to  all  that  bleed 

Beneath  oppression's  rod ; 
So  may'st  thou,  in  thy  hour  of  need, 

Sweet  mercy  find  with  God. 

Go  forth,  my  soul ! 


ABBA'S  VISION.* 

Abra  Ham  Lincoln,  may  his  tribe  increase, 
Awoke  one  night — for  wonders  ne'er  will  cease — 
And  saw  amid  the  gaslight  in  his  room, 
Looking  as  dark  as  the  great  day  of  doom, 
A  grinning  negro,  black,  grotesque  and  old. 
Long  thoughts  of  war  had  made  our  Abra  bold ; 
"  What  wantest  thou  ?"  he  to  the  phantom  cried. 
"  I  wants  to  know,  old  mars',"  the  form  replied, 
"  What  you  be  gwine  to  do  wid  dis  ere  chile  ?" 
Abra  Ham  frowned,  then  said  with  serious  smile, 
"  'Tis  written  in  Heaven,  and  this  is  my  decree — 
Both  you  and  yours  henceforward  must  be  free. 
My  word  is  given.     And  now,  old  man,  depart." 
But  why  upsprings  he  with  a  sudden  start  ? 
No  more  he  sees  a  negro,  black  and  old, 
But  a  fair  angel,  with  his  locks  of  gold, 
Badiant  as  morn,  and  gladsome  as  the  spring. 
"  I  am  the  soul  of  that  soiled,  earthly  thing 

*  Readers  of  poetry  will  not  require  to  be  told  that  the  above  was 
suggested  by  Leigh  Hunt's  beautiful  poem  of  Abou  Ben  Adhem. 

(15) 


16 


Thou  saw'st  but  now.     Oh,  man  of  honest  heart 

And  steadfast  purpose,  thou  the  letter  part 

Hast  chosen  for  thyself  and  for  thy  land  ! 

For  this  one  deed  stand  thou  at  God's  right  hand !" 

The  angel  vanished.     Abra  slept  no  more, 

But  paced  all  night  in  thought  his  chamber  floor. 


CAY  ALKY  SONG. 

Army  sabre,  sword  of  heroes, 

Glowing  in  my  hand, 
Burnest  thou  for  shock  of  battle, 

Where  the  foemen  stand  ? 
Longest  thou  for  wreaths  immortal, 

Plucked  in  danger-land  ? 

Army  sabre,  sword  of  heroes, 

Soon  shall  thou  and  I 
Swoop  upon  the  frightened  valleys, 

Like  the  hawk  from  sky — 
Than  the  hawk  thy  vision  keener, 

Beak  more  sharp  and  dry. 

Army  sabre,  sword  of  heroes, 

What  if  we  go  down, 
In  the  battle's  hour  of  triumph, 

Or  the  battle's  frown  ! 
Living,  we  will  wear  the  laurel, 

Dead,  the  cypress  crown. 
2*  (17) 


18  CAVALRY    SONG. 

Army  sabre,  sword  of  heroes, 
One  will  mourn  our  fall ; 

Or,  if  safe  we  come  from  battle, 
Proudly  yield  her  all. 

Hark !  the  bugle  gaily  ringeth, 
Answer  we  its  call. 


MY  LITTLE  DAUGHTER. 

I  have  a  little  daughter, 

As  sweet  a  child  as  e'er 
Made  sunshine  in  a  father's  heart 

With  her  soft  and  shining  hair ; 
With  her  hair  so  soft  and  silky, 

And  her  dark  and  wondering  eye, 
And  her  soul  as  pure  and  spotless 

As  a  seraph's  in  the  sky. 

I  have  a  little  daughter, 

And  she  cooeth  like  a  dove 
When  at  the  sun's  declining, 

I  seek  my  home  of  love. 
She  cooeth  like  the  stock-dove, 

And  round  my  neck  she  flings 
The  little  arms  that  brush  away 

The  day-time's  cruel  stings. 

(19) 


20  MY    LITTLE    DAUGHTER. 

I  have  a  little  daughter, 

And  blessings  on  the  hour 
She  first  came  to  her  father's  house 

As  a  token  of  God's  power  ! 
As  a  token  of  God's  power 

To  bless  and  soothe,  and  bind 
Heart  unto  heart,  strong  unto  weak, 

And  man  to  all  mankind. 

I  have  a  little  daughter, 

And  often  prayers  will  rise, — 
Dumb,  silent  prayers,  but  full  of  tears, 

To  the  o'erhanging  skies, — 
That  she  may  never  fail  her  part, 

In  dark  temptation's  strife ; 
And,  more,  than  all,  ne'er  feel  a  blight 

Pall  from  her  father's  life  ! 


HOPE  AND  PRAY ! 

Hope  on,  though  wild  and  dark  the  night, 

And  not  a  star  appear, 
Thine  eye  shall  grow  more  large  and  bright, 

Thy  sight  become  more  clear  ; 
Soon  ev'n  the  dark  shall  yield  a  light 

To  guide  thee  on  thy  way  ; 
For  as  man's  day,  so  is  his  might — 

Then  hope  on,  hope  and  pray  ! 

What  though  misfortunes  gather  round, 

Like  hounds  that  thirst  for  blood, 
Yield  not  to  fear,  but  stand  thy  ground, 

As  ev'n  dumb  beasts  have  stood. 
He  conqueror  is,  who  bravely  dies, 

And  leaves  his  foes  but  clay, 
While  all  unmarred  his  spirit  flies — 
Then  hope  on,  hope  and  pray  ! 

(21) 


22  HOPEANDPRAY. 

And  though  the  night  be  dark  and  wild, 

Patience  that  waits  may  see 
The  stars  shine  forth  once  more  with  mild 

And  calm  effulgency. 
And  though  the  hunt  be  stern  and  long, 

The  hounds  may  cease  to  bay, 
For  naught  than  patience  is  more  strong — 

Then  hope  on,  hope  and  pray ! 


AFTEB  THE  BATTLE. 

[CHANCELLORSVILLE.] 

Fling  out  the  Flag  once  more 

Against  the  Southern  sky. 
Its  stripes  all  stained  with  gore, 

Its  stars  with  crimson  dye  ; 
For  never  on  our  sight 

Shone  heaven's  auroral  gleams, 
As  in  this  hour  of  night 

Our  country's  banner  streams. 

Fling  out  the  Flag  once  more  ! 

Defeat  may  doom  a  cause, 
Born  of  disgrace  and  shame — 

Such  needs  the  world's  applause, 
The  summer  heats  of  fame. 

(23) 


24  AFTER    THE    BATTLE. 

Our  oak  but  stands  more  fast, 
The  fiercer  blows  the  storm, 

For  ev'n  the  chilling  blast 

With  God's  own  breath  is  warm. 
Fling  out  the  Flag  once  more ! 

We  fight  no  selfish  fight, 

For  party  or  for  clan, 
Our  cause  the  cause  of  Right, 

And  universal  Man ; 
We  fight  to-day  that  Peace 

For  centuries  may  be  ours, 
With  all  its  glad  increase 

Of  Freedom's  fruits  and  flowers. 
Fling  out  the  Flag  once  more ! 

Why  Fate  still  seems  to  chide, 

It  is  not  ours  to  know, 
Perhaps  'mid  roots  of  pride 

The  plough  must  deeper  go. 
Faint  not,  faint  heart,  but  on — 

God  is  above  thee,  still  j 
Who  has  the  Right  has  won, 

Even  on  Calvary's  hill. 

Fling  out  the  Flag  once  more ! 


AFTER    THE    BATTLE.  25 

Then  fling  the  Flag  once  more 

Against  the  Southern  sky, 
Its  stripes  all  stained  with  gore, 

Its  stars  with  crimson  dye. 
For  never  on  our  sight 

Shone  heaven's  auroral  gleams, 
As  in  this  hour  of  night 

Our  country's  banner  streams. 


FALL  GENTLY,  GENTLE  RAIN. 

Fall  gently,  gentle  rain,  nor  mar 
Her  quiet  sleep  who  lieth  near  j 
Let  no  rude  sound,  nor  thought  of  fear 

The  blissful  concord  jar. 

Fall  gently,  gentle  rain,  nor  shade 
The  empurpled  glory  of  her  dream  j 
Let  it  flow  ever  like  a  stream 

In  lilied  banks  arrayed. 

Fall  gently,  gentle  rain,  and  take 

The  pauses  of  my  lady's  mind 

With  silvery  tinklings  through  the  blind ; 
Till  she  and  morning  wake. 

(26) 


SONG. 

The  Foe  that  lured  my  love  from  me 

Is  false  unto  his  bridal  vow ; 
Her  blossoming  kisses  fragrantly 

Fall  on  a  stern,  averted  brow ; 
The  soft  white  arms,  within  whose  fold 

An  angel  might  contented  lie, 
Encircle  one  whose  heart  is  cold 

To  love  and  love's  idolatry. 

On  her  mild  face  I  ever  gaze, 

Even  as  she  doth  gaze  on  him, — 
No  glance  rewards  my  silent  praise 

From  those  meek  orbs  in  heaven  that  swim. 
And  like  a  large  and  liquid  star, 

She  moves  around  her  destined  sun, 
Sighing  that  still  he  keeps  afar, 

And  scorns  the  beauty  that  is  won. 

(27) 


28  SONG. 

Oh !  it  were  more  than  death,  to  see 

His  eye  return  her  constant  light, 
For  still  a  mournful  sympathy 

Preserves  my  soul  from  utter  blight ; 
But  though  his  smile  would  rend  that  tie, 

My  last  and  only  joy,  in  twain, 
Yet  welcome  were  my  misery, 

If  her  pale  cheek  might  bloom  again. 


SONG. 

Oh,  bid  me  sing  no  more  to-night, 
My  thoughts  are  of  the  morrow  morn, 

The  shock  and  fury  of  the  fight, 

The  cry  of  hate,  the  glance  of  scorn. 

To-morrow,  and  our  eyes  may  be 
Blood-red  with  weeping  bitter  tears, 

For  forms  now  full  of  life  and  glee, 
May  then  be  stiff  as  frozen  meres. 

The  cry  "  to  arms"  may  sound  to  some 

As  gaily  as  a  lover's  call ; 
To  me  it  brings  the  silent  home, 

Bereft  of  one,  which  one  is  all. 

The  shout  of  victory  may  swell 

Each  proud  heart  with  a  prouder  throe ; 
I  weep,  for  ah  !  I  know  too  well 

The  hopes  that  triumph  hour  lays  low. 

3*  (29) 


30  SONG. 

Then  bid  me  sing  no  more  to-night, 
My  thoughts  are  of  the  morrow  morn, 

The  din  of  arms,  the  wavering  fight, 
The  bloody  field  in  furrows  torn. 


THE  GOLDEN  SPRING. 

'Tis  coming  over  land  and  sea, 

The  bonny  Spring ; 
'Tis  coming  swift  o'er  hill  and  lea, 

On  flashing  wing. 

On  bare,  cold  fields  a  tint  of  green, 
In  chill  grey  skies  a  softer  sheen, 
On  high  bleak  hills  an  air  less  keen, 

Proclaim  the  coming  Spring. 

'Tis  coming  unto  every  land, 

A  milder  Day, 
When  war  no  more,  with  bloody  hand, 

Shall  bear  the  sway. 
In  many  a  heart  a  softer  flow, 
On  many  a  face  a  milder  glow, 
Soft  words  that  melt  the  coming  blow, 

Proclaim  a  milder  Day. 

(31) 


32  THE    GOLDEN    SPRING. 

'Tis  coming  to  the  poor  man's  hearth, 

A  time  of  love, — 
When  justice  shall  be  done  on  earth, 

As  'tis  above ; 

When  toil  shall  have  its  fair  reward, 
Nor  iron  monsters,  grim  and  hard, 
Crush  those  our  Saviour  in  his  word 

Commended  to  our  love. 

'Tis  coming  to  the  rich  man's  door, 

In  simple  guise, 
When  Luxury  shall  waste  no  more, 

Nor  Pride  despise ; 

But  when  shall  mark  the  rich  and  great, 
A  Eoman  simpleness  elate, 
A  Christian  scorn  of  pomp  and  state, 

Such  as  become  the  wise. 

'Tis  coming  soon,  on  rapid  wing, 

This  Golden  Age  ; 
'Tis  coming  like  the  softening  Spring, 

O'er  Winter's  rage — 
Look  out,  look  out,  the  skies  are  blue, 
Even  the  clouds  have  a  golden  hue, 
The  sun  of  glory's  breaking  through, 

All  hail  Christ's  Golden  Age ! 


THE  YOUNG  FARMER'S  SONG. 

I  have  no  sparkling  gems,  love, 

To  bind  around  thy  brow, 
I  cannot  bid  my  heart  to  thine 

In  a  golden  channel  flow  ; 
And  didst  thou  ask  for  these,  love, 

How  bitter  were  my  part, 
For  the  only  wealth  my  pride  can  boast, 

Is  a  true  and  loving  heart. 

A  true  and  loving  heart,  love, 

I  know  'tis  little  worth, 
For  men  forget  that  hearts  in  Heaven, 

Are  as  jewels  on  the  earth  ; 
But  still,  'tis  all  I  have,  love, 

And  thou  dost  ask  no  more, 
For  having  this,  whatever  say  men, 

Thou  knowest  I  am  not  poor. 

(33) 


34    THE  YOUNG  FARMER'S  SOXG 

Thou  knowest  I  am  not  poor,  love, 

My  hands  disdain  not  toil, 
I  fight  the  daily  fight  of  man 

With  the  stern,  rebellious  soil  • 
And  as  I  sow  I  reap,  love, 

My  just  and  equal  part — 
And  though  I  have  not  gold  or  gems, 

I've  a  true  and  loving  heart. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  STORY. 

Antietam's  fight  had  ceased  at  night ; 

We  saved  a  State  that  day — 
From  Maryland,  our  Maryland, 

We  hurled  their  scum  of  gray. 

Unharmed  I  stood  from  field  of  blood, 
When  evening's  drum-beat  rang  ; 

But  at  my  side  a  form  of  pride 
No  longer  marched  and  sang. 

The  gallant  heart  to  whom  no  part 

Its  face  of  danger  wore, 
Who  sought  the  strife  like  fuller  life, 

Who  loved  the  battle's  roar  ; 

No  longer  sprung  our  ranks  among, 
With  dauntless  eye  and  tone, 

Kindling  in  each  with  fiery  speech, 
A  manhood  like  his  own. 

(35) 


36  THE  SOLDIER'S   STORY. 

At  burst  of  morn,  all  pierced  and  torn 
By  murderous  steel  and  shell, 

Death-pale  but  warm,  we  found  the  form 
Of  him  we  loved  so  well. 


All  pallid  now  the  grand  white  brow, 

The  gay  cheek's  ruddy  dye  ; 
But  flashed  forth  still  the  peerless  will 

From  the  undaunted  eye. 

"  Comrades,"  he  said,  "  this  night  the  dead 
Their  ranks  shall  form  with  me  ; 

Above  this  sphere,  in  heights  more  clear, 
We'll  form  our  company. 

"  Who  fall  in  strife,  their  country's  life, 

Freedom  and  man  to  save, 
Such  spirits  high  can  never  die, 

Nor  rot  within  the  grave. 

"  Then  mourn  ye  not  their  glorious  lot 

Who,  losing  all,  all  find  ; 
I  rather  mourn  their  fate  forlorn, 

We  leave  this  day  behind. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  STORY.  37 

"  Ah,  those  we  leave  !  what  souls  will  grieve 

This  hour's  red  record  o'er, — 
What  anxious  starts,  what  quaking  hearts, 

When  a  knock  comes  at  the  door ! 


"  My  father !  tell  him  that  I  fell, 

As  he  would  have  me  die, 
My  wounds  in  front,  in  the  battle's  brunt, 

With  my  face  turned  to  the  sky. 

"  My  mother  !  say — all  gently  pray  ; 

Some  cords  are  hard  to  untwine — 
That  I  bless  her  now  for  her  loving  brow, 

And  her  patience  half  divine. 

"  If  now  I  stand  with  Death's  cold  hand 

In  mine,  and  feel  no  fears, 
It  is  that  He  has  made  me  free 

Who  heeds  a  mother's  tears. 


"  One  message  more — comrade,  bend  lower, 

It  is  not  shame,  but  pride — 
This  very  year,  at  Christmas  dear, 

I  should  have  claimed  a  bride. 
4 


38  THE    SOLDIER  7S    STORY 

"  And  on  my  breast,  in  golden  nest. 
All  radiant  you  may  see, 

The  sunny  hair  of  one  who  ne'er 
Found  aught  but  good  in  me, 


"  Tell  her  we  part,  oh,  faithful  heart, 

A  few  short  years — no  more  ; 
Her  victory  won,  her  voyage  done, 

I'll  meet  her  on  the  shore. 

"  Upon  my  breast  that  golden  nest 

Leave  with  its  sunny  hair, 
Perchance  't  will  warm  this  mangled  form, 

Shut  out  from  light  and  air. 

"  Mother !  home  !  heaven !   Hark — I  come !" 

The  gallant  soul  had  fled. 
Our  colors  proud  made  fitting  shroud — 

The  blue  and  white  and  red. 


We  dug  his  grave  as  suits  the  brave, 
Beneath  the  battle's  sod  ; 

But  well  I  know  his  soul  did  go 
That  moment  straight  to  (rod. 


SONG  FOR  THE  TIMES.* 

Hark,  hark,  the  loud  drum  o'er  our  valleys  is  sounding, 

The  battle-flag  streams  like  a  meteor  on  high. 
Young  hearts  with  bright  visions  of  glory  are  bounding, 

As  they  shout  "To  the  Field — for  the  Foeman  is 

nigh !" 
But  amid  all  the  clamor  of  war's  preparation, 

The  still  voice  of  Wisdom  is  heard  from  afar, 
Like  a  pure  gleam  of  light  through  a  red  conflagration, 

Saying,  "Peace  has  its  triumphs,  far  greater  than 
War!" 

The  warrior  may  triumph  when,  o'er  the  loud  battle, 

Is  heard  the  fierce  shout  of  a  victory  won, 
For  he  thinks  not,  inflamed  by  the  cannon's  wild  rattle, 

Of  the  mother  struck  down  in  the  form  of  her  son. 
He  thinks  not  that  long  years  of  pain  must  flow  over, 

Before  in  her  bosom  will  heal  up  that  scar ; — 
But  many  in  sorrow  too  late  will  discover 

That    "  Peace   has   its    triumphs    far   greater    than 
War!" 

*The  times  the  above  was  written  for  were  not  the  present,  and  it  is 
therefore  to  be  taken  in  a  general  sense,  and  not  with  any  partisan 
meaning. 

(39) 


40  SO  XG    FOR    THE    TIMES. 

Oh,  in  peace,  'tis  in  peace  that  all  good  causes  flourish, 

With  steady  advance  to  Millennial  day  : 
Men  tread  down  their  vices,  while  virtues  that  nourish, 

Fill  with  heavenly  fragrance  these  temples  of  clay. 
Arise  then,  ye  mighty,  in  Wisdom's  true  glory, 

And  cry  out  aloud  till  men  hear  you  afar, 
That  it  be  not  forgotten,  'mid  strife's  bloody  story, 

That  "  Peace  has   its   triumphs,   far   greater    than 
War !" 


THE  COMING  AGE. 

Of  all  the  ages  that  have  flown  since  the  ruddy  dawn 
of  time, 

None  seems  to  me  so  truly  great,  so  radiant  and  sub 
lime, 

As  tlrat  within  whose  twilight  porch  the  young  soul 
now  may  stand, 

And  gaze  like  Moses  from  the  Mount,  on  a  fair  and 
fertile  land. 

Their  "  forty  years"  of  doubt  and  strife  our  sires  have 

wandered  on, 
Since  first  they  broke  the  chains  of  rank,  the  bondage 

of  the  throne, 
Still  longing  ever  for  the  old,  its  "  flesh-pots"  and  its 

sin, 

Like  Israel  at  Kadesh,  'mid  the  desert  plains  of  Zin. 
4*  (41) 


42  THE    COMING    AGE. 

But  now  a  better  day,  thank  God !   is  breaking  on  the 

earth, 
New  times  are  coming  with  the  men  who  "with  the  new 

had  birth, 
Old  hearts  with  olden  lees  in  vain  receive  the  Heavens' 

new  wine, 
The  young  alone  may  enter  in  the  promised  Palestine. 

That  coming  age  of  peace  and  truth,  of  equal  rights 

and  laws, 
The  "  golden  age"  of  Greece  and  Rome,  our  fathers' 

"  good  old  cause," 
Which  ever  on  the  heart  of  man  has  shed  a  starry 

™y, 

Like  that  which  guided  to  the  spot  where  the  infant 
Saviour  lay, — 


That  promised  age  at  length  has  dawned — the  true 
heart  sees  ev'n  now 

Its  golden  light  illume  like  heaven  the  topmost  moun 
tain  brow, 

And  even  in  the  valleys  deep,  where  vapors  still  lie 
curled, 

Soft  rainbow  hues  are  gliding  now  like  shapes  from  a 
fairer  world. 


THECOMINGAGE.  43 

But  though  the  Morn  of  Hope  be  thus  now  breaking  on 

our  sight, 
Let  us  forget  not  it  may  fade  and  leave  once  more  the 

night. 
Only  the  valor  which   hath  won   that   first   effulgent 

raJ? 

May  win  a  further  progress  still  to  the  full  and  perfect 
Day. 

Then  grow  not  weary  in  thy  work,  young  soldier,  who 

hath  cast 
Thy  bright  glance  to  the  Future  from  the  darkness  of 

the  Past ; 
Cease  not  thy  stern,  unsparing  war  with  all  the  false 

and  wrong, 
And  as  the  triumph  grows  more  sure,  let  thy  heart  grow 

more  strong. 

And  listen  not  but  with  a  smile  to  those  who  weakly 

fall 
Before  the  dead  ghost  of  the  Past,  and  on  its  greatness 

call; 
The  old  time  had  its  stars,  thou  know'st — what  night 

is  there  has  none  ? 
But  press  thou  onward  and  rejoice — the  Future  hath 

its  sun ' 


"ONLY  A  WOMAN'S  HAIR." 

The  day  is  cold  arid  dark — the  sharp  sleet  drives 

All  pitiless  upon  the  dreary  earth  ; 
It  is  a  day  to  make  men  love  their  wives, 

And  the  home  comforts  of  the  marriage  hearth. 

Such  joys  are  mine,  thank  God !     No  more  my  heart 
Cons  sadly  o'er  the  lessons  of  despair ; 

As  when,  with  shallow  and  self-torturing  art, 
I  traced  these  words — "  Only  a  woman's  hair !" 

Only  a  woman's  hair !     I  mind  me  well 

When  this  dark  tress,  lit  up  with  golden  gleams, 

A  sunny  ringlet  on  a  girl's  neck  fell — 

A  slender  girl,  with  eyes  like  shaded  streams. 

I  was  a  boy  then,  with  a  boy's  bold  pride — 
She  younger  was,  but  ruled  me  as  a  queen  ; 

Boy-love's  a  jest,  and  yet  I  would  have  died 

To  shield  from  harm  that  forehead's  sunny  sheen. 

(44) 


"ONLY  A  WOMAN'S  HAIR."         45 

We  older  grew,  and  curls  of  golden  brown 
Now  made  a  glory  round  her  regal  head ; 

Still  at  her  feet  I  laid  my  treasures  down, 
And  held  them  honored  by  her  very  tread. 


Then  glowed  the  hour,  all  other  hours  above, 
When  my  proud  queen  became  a  woman  mild. 

Yielded  her  sceptre  in  the  name  of  Love, 
And  grew  in  spirit  like  a  little  child. 

This  dark  brown  tress,  which  gleams  with  threads  of  gold, 
I  severed  then  in  that  new  hour  of  sway ; 

Soft  token  of  my  right  to  have  and  hold 
This  second  self  until  the  judgment  day. 

Alas,  the  baffled  hopes  of  love  and  youth ! 

'Twas  the  old  story,  one  was  rich,  one  poor ; 
They  houses  had  and  lands,  we  simple  truth. 

She  wrote  : — "  Henceforth  is  closed  my  father's  door  ; 

"  Yet  always  shall  I  love  you.  I  have  said 
I  ne'er  shall  wed  against  my  father's  will — 

But  ne'er  against  my  own  will  shall  I  wed. 

Have  patience,  sweet!  and  love  me,  love  me  still!" 


46         "ONLY  A  WOMAN'S  HAIR." 

Oh,  foolish  heart  of  youth !  that  will  have  bliss, 
And  that  at  once.     I  answered,  she  was  mine, 

By  the  long  years,  by  her  first  maiden  kiss, 
By  vows  as  strong  as  oaths,  by  love  divine  ! 


I  would  not  yield  my  claim.     For  house  or  field 
Of  hers  I  cared  not ;  but  her  empty  hand, 

Her  queenly  self,  I  could  not,  would  not  yield, 
For  all  the  tyrant  fathers  in  the  land. 


Came  back  her  answer — mildly  toned,  but  firm, 
With  a  clear  ring  that  well  my  memory  knew, — 

What  she  had  said,  was  said.     Come  calm,  come  storm, 
To  home  and  love  alike  she  would  be  true. 


Her  father  was  no  tyrant — for  her  sake, 

And  that  he  loved  her,  he  had  wrung  her  breast. 

The  future  years  might  yet  all  even  make. 
If  they  did  not — within  the  grave  was  rest. 

How  could  I  hope  a  faithful  wife  to  find 
In  one  who  as  a  daughter  sadly  failed  ? 

Of  course  my  steps  she  would  no  longer  bind — 
"Hereafter  you  are  free,"  the  sad  lines  wailed. 


"ONLY  A  WOMAN'S  HAIR."         47 

I  beard  not  then  that  wailing — all  I  heard, 
All  my  imbittered  sight  that  hour  could  see, 

Was  she  refused  to  keep  her  plighted  word, 
And  coldly  said,  "  Hereafter  you  are  free." 


It  all  was  o'er  then.     I  had  built  on  sand 

My  palace  beautiful,  as  frail  as  fair  ! 
I  took  this  soft  tress  coldly  in  my  hand, 

Saying,  "  And  this  is  but  a  woman's  hair ! 

"  Only  a  woman's  hair  !   I  madly  deemed 

This  hair  was  as  an  angel's — would  have  sworn 

That  curls  like  this  round  Eve's  fair  forehead  gleamed. 
Perhaps  they  did — for  Eve  mado  Adam  mourn. 

"  Ah  well,  I'm  not  the  first  man  woman-fooled — 
Nor  will  I  be  the  last  such  shame  to  bear ; 

For  few  can  write,  before  thus  sadly  schooled, 
On  silken  tress,  c  Only  a  woman's  hair  !' ' 

******* 

Madness  of  madness  !  but  it  saved  my  life — 

AVhile  wisely  good,  she  drifted  tow'rd  the  dead  ; 

Her  cheek  grew  thin  and  pale — "  Some  secret  strife 
Is  wasting  her,"  the  grave  physician  said. 


48         "ONLY  A   WOMAN'S  HAIR." 

And  change  of  scene  was  tried — that  constant  balm 
Of  breaking  hearts  ;  as  if  an  alien  sky 

Could  bring  again  the  gladness  and  the  calm 

The  bosom  knew  when  hope  soared  proud  and  high. 


In  vain  !  'twas  all  in  vain  !     And  then,  one  day, 
Oh  day  of  all  days  brightest !   came  a  line 

That  thrilled  me  through.     The  earth,  it  sank  away ! 
Only  two  words  were  there  : — "  COME  !  Geraldim." 

"  Only  a  woman's  hair !"  and  yet  those  strands 
Of  paly  gold,  soft  jet,  or  gleaming  brown, 

Hold  us  with  coils  as  sure  as  iron  bands — 

Lift  us  to  heaven,  from  heaven  may  drag  us  down ! 

Thus  on  this  cold,  dark  day,  I  sit  and  muse. 

All  cold  and  dark  without — within  a  shrine  ; 
For  by  the  cradle  where  our  birdie  coos, 

She  sits  and  sings,  my  true-love,  Geraldine .' 


LIFE'S  CHANGES. 

Like  a  dew  drop  was  their  darling, 
Fallen  from  the  heaven  above  ; 

Pure  as  aught  that  earth  can  nourish. 
Was  the  offspring  of  their  love. 

Year  by  year  she  grew  in  beauty, 
Like  her  spirit,  pure  and  mild, 

Till  she  seemed,  that  lovely  maiden, 
Both  a  woman  and  a  child. 

Then  a  shade  came  o'er  her  features, 
And  it  deepened  day  by  day  •  — 

What  has  happened  to  tliee,  maiden  ? 
Where  has  fled  thy  spirit  gay  ? 

From  her  lips  no  answer  cometh — 
See,  she  seeks  the  forest  shade, 

And  the  soft  and  pensive  twilight— 
What  has  changed  the  lovely  maid  ? 

5  W, 


50  LIFE'S  CHANGES. 

Now  the  cloud  has  swiftly  vanished, 
And  a  clearer,  holier  light 

Than  the  radiance  of  her  childhood, 
Beams  upon  our  raptured  sight. 

Yes,  again  she  is  the  centre 

Of  their  hopes  and  fondest  pride  ; 

But  behold  there  js  a  stranger 
Standing  by  their  darling's  side. 

With  a  proud  and  lofty  bearing, 
Does  the  daring  stranger  stand ; 

See,  she  looks  upon  him  fondly ; 
See  !  he  clasps  her  timid  hand. 

"Mother,"  says  the  youth,  "  forgive  me  ! 

I  your  daughter's  heart  have  won  :" 
"  Father,"  says  the  trembling  maiden, 

"  Father,  you  have  gained  a  son." 


TO  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

[SONNET  AND  ACROSTIC.] 

A  man  raised  up  by  Heaven,  oh  Chief!  art  thou! 

Both  bold  and  prudent,  fitted  for  the  hour ! 

Resolved  to  hold  with  iron  hand  the  dower 

And  birthright  of  the  Free,  and  keep  thy  vow ! 

He  who  ne'er  bowed  to  kings,  to  thee  may  bow, 

As  unto  one  anointed  by  God's  power — 

Man  of  the  People  !  rising  as  a  tower, 

Like  Saul,  among  thy  brethren !   Oh,  be  now 

In  soul  our  Samuel,  hearkening  to  the  Lord, 

Nor  spare  the  -cursed  Agag  of  our  land  ! 

Cut  out  that  cancer  with  war's  sure-edg'd  sword ! 

Oh,  mercifully  cruel  be  thy  hand ! 

Long  centuries  hence  thy  name  shall  shine  as  one 

No  blame  can  cloud — our  second  Washington  ! 


(51) 


STANZAS. 

Father  !  I  am  weary — 
I  would  no  longer  roam 
Along  this  life-path  dreary — 
Call  me  home. 

Oh,  when  I  was  stronger, 
In  the  early  day, 
I  wished  each  hour  was  longer — 
Hours  of  play. 

Then  my  path  was  lighted 
By  beams  from  kindly  eyes, 
Now  my  way's  benighted — 
Sunshine  flies. 

Then  soft  words  of  cheering 
Nerved  the  fainting  heart, 
And  with  sweet  endearing 

Healed  each  smart. 
(52) 


STANZAS.  53 


Now,  alone  I  wander, 
Cheered  by  no  joyful  chime, 
And  melancholy  ponder 

The  olden  time. 


Son!  is  all  completed 
That  thou  wast  sent  to  do  ? 
Hast  thou  trod  thy  meted 

Pathway  through  ? 

Are  mankind  the  better  ? 
Hast  thou  paid  thy  toll  ? 
Hast  thou  struck  one  fetter 

From  the  soul  ? 

To  war  and  toil  and  quicken 
I  sent  thee  into  life  ; 
Thou  wilt  be  sorely  stricken 
In  the  strife. 

This  is  thy  appointed 
Mission  from  the  skies  ; 
Thou  art  mine  anointed — 
Man  arise  ! 
5* 


54  STANZAS. 

When  through  thy  long  labor, 

Holier  love  shall  burn 

In  each  toward  his  neighbor, 

Thou  shalt  return. 


TO  ISADORA. 

FROM  "  A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN." 

Bend  not  upon  me,  Lady,  the  wild  light 
Of  those  large  lustrous  eyes — already  thine 
I  am,  thou  knowest,  for  a  power  divine 

To  me  thou  hast  been  since  that  dreamy  night, 

When  first  thou  cam'st  before  my  astonished  sight, 
Like  a  new  star  in  heaven,  with  dazzling  shine, 
Mad'ning  me  with  thy  beauty  as  with  wine. 

And  for  thy  love  I  would  dare  all  the  might 

Of  mortal  man  :  but  tempt  me  not  to  scorn 

The  invisible  powers,  honor,  and  truth,  and  faith ; 

Dear  Lady,  make  me  not  a  thing  forlorn, 
Heir  to  a  base  life  and  a  baser  death. 

Tempt  me  no  further,  weak  arid  passion-tost — 

Oh  turn  those  eyes  away,  or  I  am  lost ! 


(55) 


TO  ISADORA. 

FROM  "  A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN." 

Tempt  me  no  more  with  lip  and  eye, 
Lay  not  thy  hand  on  mine ; 

Rather  than  sin  to  gain  thy  love, 
I  will  that  love  resign. 

The  chain  is  breaking,  Lady,  fast, 
That  bound  my  soul  to  thee, 

Until  I  lived  but  to  record 
Thy  absolute  decree. 

My  mind  has  yielded  to  thy  touch 

As  to  a  rightful  sway  : 
So  long  as  I  believed  thee  true, 

To  hear  was  to  obey. 

Thy  witching  voice,  the  magic  power 

That  lay  within  thine  eye, 
Thy  glorious  face,  with  pride  of  thought 

Lighted  resplendently ; 

(66) 


TOISADORA.  57 

Took  my  soul  captive — led  it  chained — 

Left  but  the  wild  desire 
That  I  might  press  those  heavenly  lips 

One  moment,  and  expire. 

'Tis  past,  that  rage  of  love  no  more 

O'ermasters  all  my  breast  j 
Thy  own  voice  broke  the  charm,  and  then 

Cold  reason  did  the  rest. 

What  saw  thy  heart  in  mine  so  foul, 

So  fallen  and  so  low, 
As  't  were  to  strike  my  best  friend  down 

Because  he  is  thy  foe  ? 

Lady,  farewell— we  part  to  meet 

No  more  on  life's  rough  sea, — 
Oh,  would  to  heaven  that  I  had  died 

Before  I  looked  on  thee  ! 


THE  OLD  POETS. 

What,  this  is  life !  this  toil  from  day  to  day, 
This  wasting  labor  of  my  heart  and  brain, 
Not  to  make  glad  with  rich  poetic  rain, 

The  barren  deserts  where  the  earth-born  stray, 

But  on  myself  to  forge  the  fatal  sway 
Of  worldly  care,  of  custom,  and  of  pain, 
That  I  may  soar  not  to  the  heavenly  plain, 

Nor  at  its  starry  founts  my  thirst  allay ! 
But  though  this  be  my  lot,  I  still  can  hold 
High  intercourse  with  them,  the  Free  of  old ! 

And  like  a  caged  bird,  that  sees  at  morn 

Bright  wings  like  sunbeams  cleaving  through  the  sky, 

In  their  bold  songs  forget  my  state  forlorn, 
In  their  strong  flight  my  own  captivity. 


(58) 


TO  MARY. 


"  For  Mary  hath  chosen  that  good  part  which  shall  not  be  taken 
away  from  her." 


Sweet  friend  and  innocent,  whose  pure  young  heart 

O'erflows  with  love  and  childlike  confidence, 
Forgive  their  folly  who,  with  worldly  art, 

Oft  "  palter  with  thee  in  a  double  sense ;" 
Nor  mourn  that  thou  with  thy  clear  truthfulness, 

Thy  artless  questions,  and  most  frank  replies, 
Thy  candor's  plain  and  unadorned  excess, 

Lightest  with  mirth  our  laughter-loving  eyes : 
No !   let  us  rather  mourn,  who  may  have  given, 

Like  our  first  parents,  purity  and  truth, 
For  knowledge  which  when  gained  has  lost  us  heaven, 

The  sunny  heaven  of  unsuspecting  youth ! 
Then,  Mary,  keep  thy  singleness  of  heart, 
For  thou  hast  truly  chosen  the  better  part. 


(59) 


LINES. 

When  the  day  in  sadness  lingers 
On  the  furthest  verge  of  light, 

And  with  slow,  uncertain  fingers, 
Lifts  the  curtain  of  the  night ; 

Then  come  gentle  thoughts  and  loving, 
Pleading  with  bewitching  art, 

And  with  them  I  go  a-roving 
To  the  maiden  of  my  heart. 

Soon  I  feel  her  presence  holy, 
Soon  her  hand  is  clasped  in  mine, 

Soon  I  hear  her  whisper  lowly, 
"  I  am  thine,  yes,  only  thine  !'' 

What  though  morn  be  robeu  in  sadness, 
And  the  noon  be  bathed  in  tears, 

If  the  eve  renew  my  gladness, 
And  in  love  consume  my  fears  1 

(60) 


LINES.  61 

What  were  earth  if  Love  were  banished, 

But  a  world  without  a  sun  ? 
What  is  Love  when  earth  has  vanished? 

Joyful  being  just  begun. 


TO  C.  M.  C. 

Thou  hast  an  old  heroic  name, 

And  an  old  Roman  hate 
Of  all  that  saps  with  fear  or  shame 

The  bulwarks  of  the  State. 

A  hatred  of  the  mean  thou  hast, 

A  stern  hate  of  the  vile. 
Which,  long  as  tyranny  doth  last, 

No  art  can  reconcile. 

Such  men  as  thou  renew  our  faith 
Wrong  shall  not  last  for  aye ; 

Their  very  birth  a  promise  hath 
Of  a  serener  day. 

Though  often  tempted,  sorely  tried, 
By  earthly  doubts  and  strong, 

They  bear  right  onward  'gainst  the  tide 
And  foaming  front  of  wrong. 

(62) 


TO    C.    M.    C.  63 

Now  fettered  by  the  world's  applause. 

Now  by  its  bate  set  free, 
They  faint  not,  but  in  Freedom's  cause 

Fulfill  their  destiny. 


TO  LAURA. 

ON  HER  SIXTEENTH  BIRTHDAY. 
[ACROSTIC.] 

Like  one  who  stands  and  views  a  flowery  scene, 
All  bright  and  glowing  'neath  a  sunny  sky, 
Unmarked  the  briars  that  mar  the  landscape  green, 
Ravished  by  song  of  birds  and  wind's  low  sigh, 
A  maid  of  sixteen  summers,  thou  dost  stand 
Viewing  the  sunny  slopes  of  womanhood. 
Radiant  indeed  is  that  delightful  land, 
Oh  maiden  fair,  unto  the  pure  and  good. 
Be  thine  its  choicest  blessings,  thine  the  way 
Enameled  o'er  with  flowers  of  loveliest  hue, 
Roving  by  pleasant  waters  all  thy  day. 
Then  at  the  eve,  perchance  a  fairer  view 
Shall  still  be  thine.  Heaven's  portal  gazing  through. 


(64) 


THE  WANDERING  JEW. 

Full  eighteen  hundred  years  have  coine  and  gone, 
And  yet  I  live.     I  live  and  cannot  die. 
Strong  is  this  pulse,  and  vigorous  these  limbs 
As  when  that  fatal  morning  I  awoke 
Joyful  and  glad  to  see  the  sacrifice. 
"  Thou  tarry  till  I  come  !"     With  what  a  strange 
Sharp  sound  rang  those  brief  words  upon  my  ear, — 
I,  half  incredulous  and  half  afraid, 
Unhappiest  man  of  men,  cursed  with  long  life, 
Life  long  as  earth's,  and  stars  that  light  the  earth, 
And  orbs  that  feed  the  ever  dimming  stars. 
And  others  heard  that  voice  and  scoffing  said, 
"  0,  lie  will  live  forever" — kinsmen  and  friends  j 
But  as  the  years  rolled  on,  nor  changed  my  form, 
Nor  lost  its  flush  of  youth,  nor  dimmed  my  eye, 
While  round  me  stood  companions  of  my  morn 
Palsied  and  bent,  and  I  within  their  midst 
All  kingly  tall  and  with  no  touch  of  time 
Or  fell  disease  on  my  unwrinkled  front, 

6*  (65) 


66  THE    WANDERING    JE  V»'. 

Began  they  then  to  whisper  with  white  fear, 

"  No,  he  can  ne'er  grow  old,  you  heard  the  curse !" 

And  men  avoided  me,  and  even  my  child 

Grew  fearful  of  my  presence,  and  my  wife 

Was  glad  to  die  and  leave  me  all  alone. 

Thus  was  I  made  a  wanderer,  forced  to  fly 
From  those  that  knew  to  those  that  knew  me  not — 
And  this  has  been  my  lot,  and  will  be  yet 
My  lot  until  the  end.     Sweet  friendship's  ties 
Have  not  been  all  unknown  even  to  me, 
And  love  not  all  a  stranger,  for  my  heart 
Is  as  the  heart  of  youth,  and  though  long  time 
Has  given  it  a  strange  calmness,  yet  the  sight 
Of  a  soft  face  still  kindles  in  my  breast 
A  spark  of  the  old  flame  that  once  I  knew 
Among  Judea's  maidens.     But  no  spot 
Could  my  feet  find  to  dwell  on  more  than  for 
A  swift-fled  season,  for  all  saw  too  soon 
That  I  was  cursed,  alas,  and  could  not  die. 
And  poisons  hurt  me  not,  nor  the  cold  plague, 
Nor  fire,  nor  edge  of  sword,  nor  choking  waves  ; 
For  breath  is  not  my  life,  and  through  my  frame 
Runs  blood  which  is  not  blood,  but  like  perchance 
Those  arteries  metallic  which  we  find 
Feeding  the  great  bulk  of  the  undying  globe. 


THE    WANDER!  N  G    J  E  W.  67 

And  other  men  have  striven  to  be  as  I, 
Have  sought  to  mix  some  potent  draught  that  should 
Enchant  their  youth,  that  they  too  ne'er  might  die — 
Poor  fools,  may  they  ne'er  find  the  ill  they  seek. 

And  yet  the  curse  has  been  not  all  a  curse. 
God's  curses  cannot !     What  He  wills  is  good, 
Is  always  good.     His  blessing  smiles  beneath 
The  stern  frown  of  a  dreadful  punishment 
Meekly  submitted  to,  and  I  have  learned 
To  war  not  with  my  God.     In  patience  calm 
I  bow  to  His  decree.     Until  He  come 
I  walk  the  earth  and  bear  my  heavy  cross, 
Thrice  happy  if  its  weight  compare  to  His. 
And  I  shall  fear  not  to  behold  once  more 
The  glance  of  those  meek  eyes,  when  once  again 
He  comes  in  triumph  'mid  the  angelic  host. 
I  shall  not  fear  to  meet  those  sad,  calm  eyes,  . 
For  I  shall  tarry  till  he  come  with  hope, 
And  faith  that  waxes  not  nor  cold  nor  dim, 
Eternal  as  my  youth.     For  well  I  know 
That  ages  yet  must  pass  away  and  die, 
And  men  grow  humbler,  and  love  poverty 
Rather  than  wealth  touched  with  least  show  of  wrong, 
And  competence  than  wealth  however  got, 
And  learn  to  feel  that  no  man  has  a  right 


68  THE    WANDERING    JEW. 

To  gather  up  the  rich  increase  of  earth 
And  hoard  it  for  his  own  most  selfish  use, 
While  others  famish  for  the  bread  of  life, 
The  life  of  both  the  body  and  the  mind — 
Full  well  I  know  that  this  and  more  than  this, 
Must  come  to  pass  before  His  hour  shall  come. 

And  therefore  I  with  double  motive  toil 
To  fill  man's  heart  with  love.     I  whisper  truths 
Which  other  men  first  whisper,  then  aloud 
Bear  witness  to,  though  curse  the  world  and  smite 
As  once  I  smote — and  then  all  men  with  joy, 
Wakening  as  if  from  out  a  gloomy  dream, 
Cry  loud  "  'Tis  true!  'tis  true  !"    And  thus  from  truth 
To  steeper  truth  I  lead  their  spirits  on 
Tip  to  the  Pisgah  height  from  which  my  eyes, 
And  all  men's  eyes,  shall  see  the  promised  land, 
In  which  we  are  to  enter  and  to  dwell 
With  Jesus  for  our  king — where  hate  no  more 
Shall  stir  up  man  'gainst  man,  and  selfishness 
Shall  prompt  the  soul  no  more  to  wealth  or  power 
Above  its  fellows  ;  but  as  brothers  dear, 
Sons  of  one  common  Father,  we  shall  dwell, 
And  the  glad  earth  glide  unperceived  and  smooth 
Among  the  orbs  of  heaven,  and  sin  and  pain 
And  my  curse  be  no  more. 


SONNET. 

When  this  hot  pulse  no  longer  madly  beats 
With  fierce  ambition  or  with  wild  desire, 
When  all  is  cold  that  now  seems  so  afire, 

And  icy  death  has  calmed  life's  fever  heats, 

Lament  ye  not,  as  the  quick  spirit  fleets, 

For  friend  or  brother,  husband,  son,  or  sire  ; — 
Why  mourn  he  has  escaped  life's  burning  pyre, 

He  so  unfit  to  brave  its  fiery  sleets ! 

Rather  rejoice  to  think  his  soul  no  more 
Shall  quiver  under  Time's  relentless  rod ; 

And  lay  that  calmly  'neath  earth's  grassy  floor, 
Which  is  of  kindred  to  the  flower  and  sod. 

And  carve  this  line  upon  the  grave's  sad  door  : 
HEBE  LIES  ANOTHER  FAILURE.  PARDON,  GOD  ! 


(69) 


THE  POWER  OF  BEAUTY. 

Oh,  mighty  is  the  power  that  beauty  wields 

Over  the  heart  of  wild  and  ardent  youth ; 
Despotic  as  that  born  in  blood-stained  fields, 

And  yielded  to  with  more  of  zeal  and  truth. 

Mark  its  proud  rule  ev'n  when  the  demon  tooth 
Of  fierce  mistrust  had  fixed  upon  its  prey, 

When  France  her  tyrants  smote  and  felt  no  ruth  • 
Mark  ye  who  doubt  the  power  of  Beauty's  sway. 
That  face  as  Judith's  fair,  the  avenging  saint,  Corday ! 

Borne  on  the  car  amid  the  vengeful  mob, 
Hear  how  the  jeer  and  taunt  half  uttered  die, 

When  that  calm  cheek,  and  breast  which  knows  no  sob, 
And  form  of  matchless  mould  beam  on  the  eye, 
Like  eve's  lone  star  amid  a  stormy  sky. 

Oh  noble  one  !  who  in  kind  pity  leaned 

O'er  sorrow's  form  with  soft  and  healing  sigh, 

And  then  with  steady  hand  struck  down  the  fiend 
Who  ruled  a  trembling  land,  with  soul   from   mercy 
weaned. 

(70) 


THE    POWER    OF    BEAUTY.  71 

Mark  how  the  spell  of  angel  loveliness 

Has  bound  the  soul  of  Mentz's  ardent  son ; 

He  feels  not,  hears  not  the  thick  crowds  which  press 
Around  the  block,  beholds  but  that  fair  one 
Whose  little  race  of  life  is  almost  run. 

Her  dark  eye  glances  on  the  throng  around, 
And  rests  on  his — that  glance  has  him  undone. 

The  swift  axe  falls  with  sharp  and  shuddering  sound — 
And  what  cares  he  for  life  since  she  the  tomb  has  found ! 

And  he  can  rest  no  more,  but  courts  his  fate, 

And  proudly  mounts  the  crimson  guillotine ; 
Views  not  its  horrors  with  the  glance  of  hate, 

But  treads  its  planks  with  smiles  and  joyful  mien. 

Oh  may  not  we  who  read  this  tender  scene, 
Think  they  were  kindred  souls,  destined  to  be 

Partners  on  earth,  and  that  one  glance  between 
Electric  spark  from  heart  to  heart  ? — For  thee 
Death  was  the  only  life,  thou  brave  young  Deputy ! 

And  let  us  not  forget  that  noble  band 

Who  leagued  to  right  the  Scottish  Mary's  wrong ; 
Proud  Babington  with  open  soul  and  hand, 

And  Titchbourne  with  his  friendship  quick  and 
strong, 

Whose  path  of  life  was  strewn  with  flowers  along. 


72  THE    POWER    OF    BEAUTY. 

A  woman's  form  is  fettered  in  yon  tower, 
A  lovely  lip  now  pours  no  more  the  song : 

She  droops  like  rose  torn  from  its  native  bower, — 
What,  are  they  gallant  men,  and  do  they  fear  death's 
hour ! 

Yes,  ever  thus  since  time  his  race  began, 

The  heart  of  youth  has  bowed  to  beauty's  spell, 
The  only  bondage  that  becomes  a  man, 

The  only  tyrant  he  may  ne'er  repel. 

Lightly  upon  the  soul  the  fetters  dwell, 
Until  we  fain  would  wander  from  the  throne, 

But  then  they  bind  at  every  step,  and  tell 
Their  mighty  strength  by  the  sad,  smothered  moan, 
Till  we  repenting  turn,  and  for  our  sin  atone. 


THE  EXILE'S  ADDRESS  TO  AMERICA. 

[AN  EXTRACT.] 

Land  of  my  choice !  thou  art  a  fitting  dwelling 

For  the  true-hearted,  for  the  bold  and  free  ; 
Thy  thousand  tongues  are  eloquently  telling 

That  thou  the  exile's  home  shalt  ever  be. 

When  thy  great  rivers  come,  the  mighty  sea 
Flings  wide  the  doors  into  his  council  hall ; 

Thy  lakes  rush  grandly  on,  and  bend  the  knee, 
And  shout  their  Maker's  praise  ;  and  who  can  fall 
Before  his  fellow  man,  when  they  on  God  thus  call ! 

Aye,  nature  here  prc  claims  in  grandest  tones 

The  glory  of  her  Author.     Higher  and  higher 
Tower    up    the     mountains,    vast,    cloud-curtained 

thrones 

For  the  Unseen  to  rest  on.    Waves  of  fire 
Roll  o'er  the  boundless  prairie — iiigher  and  nigher 
Dashes    their   sparkling   spray.     Seek'st    thou    the 
shore, 
7  73^ 


74  THE  EXILE'S  ADDRESS  TO  AMERICA. 

Proud  man,  with  orders  decked  ?    Thy  funeral  pyre 
Is  kindled.     What  avails  thy  golden  store  ? 
The  poorest  serf  will  burn,  prove  now  that  thou  art 
more. 

Such  are  the  scenes  around  them — what  are  they 
Who  dwell  in  such  a  vast,  Titanic  home  ? 

A  rough-hewn  race,  bear-cubs  just  brought  to  day, 
And  not  yet  shaped — restless  and  wild  they  roam, 
Borne  to  and  fro  like  ocean's  storm-tossed  foam, 

By  every  wave  of  doctrine — no  stray  thought 
But  here  will  find  a  sphere  in  which  to  loom 

Through    vapory    space,    until    it    seems    heaven 

wrought ; 
But  soon  they  grasp  the  prize,  and  find  their  treasure 


naught. 


A  giant  here  was  born.     Yet  in  his  spring, 
His  earthly  nature  first  comes  forth  in  pride. 

He  loves  to  show  his  body's  strength,  to  fling 
The  rocks  on  high  which  bar  his  manly  stride, 
On  the  black  steed  whose  breath  is  flame  to  ride, 

To  turn  the  rivers  from  their  olden  path, 

Through  upper  air  'mid  cloud  and  storm  to  glide, 

And  tame  the  lightning's  fierce, destructive  wrath, 
Aye,  in  such  things  as  yet,  his  young  soul  pleasure  hath. 


THE   EXILE'S    ADDRESS    TO    AMERICA.  75 

The  time  shall  come  when,  his  strong  powers  unfold- 

ding, 

He  shall  speak  out  unto  his  fellow  man, 
With  all  that's  holy  sweet  communion  holding, 
Careless  of  lordly  frown  or  priestly  ban. 
The  kindling  coals  of  truth  his  breath  shall  fan, 
And  beacon  fires  shall  blaze  from  every  height ; 

And  like  an  angel  he  shall  lead  the  van 
Of  thronging  millions  battling  for  the  right, 
And  then  shall   be  laid  low  each  proud   oppressor's 
might. 

Aye,  he  shall  yet  arise,  and  be  a  rnouth 

To  this  great  western  world — to  trumpet  forth 
From  sea  to  sea,  from  north  to  farthest  south, 

A  new  evangel  to  the  groaning  earth. 

God  speed  the  hour  when  every  humble  hearth 
Blooming  and  happy  faces  shall  surround, 

Refined  by  knowledge,  dignified  by  worth ; 
When  Plenty's  horn  shall  everywhere  be  found, 
And    Freedom's    glorious    form    the    only    monarch 
crowned ! 


ISABEL. 

Upon  the  cold,  cold  bier  thy  kindred  laid  thee, 

Isabel ! 

In  white,  pure  white,  young,  trembling  hands  arrayed 
thee, 

Isabel! 

As  to  a  bridal,  thrilling  voices  bade  me, 
They  led  me  there,  I  knew  not  that  they  led  me 
Unto  thy  darkened  chamber,  Isabel  ! 


I  gazed  upon  that  face  so  coldly  blooming, 

Isabel ! 
Upon  that  cheek  which  glowed  not  at  my  coming, 

Isabel ! 

Those  pallid  lips  which  parted  not  to  bless  me, 
Those  snowy  arms  which  oped  not  to  caress  me, 

Those  eyes,  closed,  closed  forever,  Isabel ! 

(76) 


ISABEL.  77 

I  thought  not  of  the  hour,  the  hour  T  won  thec, 

Isabel ! 

I  thought  not  of  the  good  thy  love  had  done  me, 

Isabel ! 

One  feeling  filled  my  soul,  one  feeling  only, 

That  thou  wert  dead,  and  I  forever  lonely, 

With  nothing  left  to  live  for,  Isabel ! 


Then  rose  an  aged  man,  by  age  unfrozen, 

Isabel ! 

"  She  lies  not  there,"  he  said,  "  the  early  chosen, 

Isabel ! 

Those  pallid  lips  which  parted  not  to  bless  thee, 

Those  snowy  arms  which  oped  not  to  caress  thee, 

She  would  not  thus,  thy  own,  thy  Isabel ! 


"  She  has  not  left  thee,  still  she  stands  beside  thee, 

Isabel ! 

Still  from  the  tempter  shall  her  spirit  guide  thee, 

Isabel ! 

Still  shall  her  presence  comfort  thee  at  even, 

Still  shall  ye  wander  'neath  the  starry  heaven, 

Still  shall  she  be  thy  own,  thy  Isabel !" 


78  ISABEL. 

And  I  am  calm  now,  calm,  for  thou  art  nigh  me, 

Isabel ! 

In  peril's  hour  thou  movest  slowly  by  rne, 

Isabel ! 

Whene'er  I  seek  the  good,  the  true,  the  holy, 

Whene'er  I  shun  the  heartless  haunts  of  folly, 

I  feel  thou  still  art  with  me,  Isabel ! 


LIFE. 

FIRST  VOICE. 
1. 

Our  life  is  but  a  bubble  tost, 

Now  here,  now  there,  now  found  now  lost, 

Upon  a  stormy  wave. 
It  glows  perhaps  with  iris  hues, 
But  like  the  light  the  lost  one  woos, 

They  mock  us  to  the  grave. 
Friendship  is  but  another  name 
For  selfishness  and  pride  ; 
And  love  burns  with  unholy  flame, 
Before  the  maid  is  bride. 

Now  hither,  now  thither, 

In  fruitless  chase  we  stray, 
Our  found  joy  a  child's  toy, 
Broken  and  thrown  away. 
(79) 


80  LIFE. 

2. 

A  moment  more,  and  where  is  life  ? 
Burst  by  the  angry  waves  of  strife, 

It  mixes  with  the  sea. 
Our  brother  sinks  beneath  the  wave, 
And  this,  his  spirit's  hopeless  grave, 

We  call  « the  Life  to  be." 
His  separate  being  is  no  more, 

Be  he  not  tossed  again, 
To  float  a  moment  as  before, 

Then  mingle  with  the  main. 

The  body's  fall  thus  merges  all 

Into  a  mighty  whole  ; 
Our  separate  lot  is  all  forgot 
In  nature's  heaving  soul. 

SECOND   VOICE. 

1. 

Our  life  is  like  a  twinkling  star, 
Seen  in  the  depths  of  blue  afar, 

Just  visible  to  sight ; 
Gladly  along  its  path  it  goes, 
And  with  a  brighter  radiance  glows, 

As  darker  grows  the  night. 
Friendship  is  sunshine  freely  given 

To  warm  the  fainting  soul, 


LIFE.  81 

And  love  is  holy  fire  from  heaven, 
Such  as  Prometheus  stole. 

It  nerves  us,  preserves  us 

From  every  deed  of  shame  : 
The  storm  blast  and  rain  fast 
But  feed  its  rising  flame. 

2. 

And  death  is  but  the  clad-in-mail, 
Who  with  his  spear  uplifts  the  veil 

That  dims  the  spirit's  view ; 
And  life  is  then  a  glorious  sun, 
That  like  a  god  his  race  doth  run, 

Where  night  can  ne'er  pursue. 
Attended  by  a  sister  star, 

With  softer,  holier  light, 
Nor  time  nor  space  uprears  a  bar 
To  their  eternal  flight. 

And  loudly  and  proudly 

Their  song  of  praise  they  sing, 
To  Him  who  the  heavens  knew, 
Ere  Time  had  plumed  his  wing. 


"WILL'S  ROCK." 

Few  days  that  I  have  passed  on  earth, 
Few  hours  of  those  where  joy  has  smiled, 

By  running  stream,  or  social  hearth, 
In  town,  or  forest  wild, 

Have  left  such  rapture  in  my  breast, 
Such  trails  as  of  a  heavenly  dream, 

As  one  soft  summer  day  I  passed 
By  Brandywine's  bright  stream. 

For  friends  were  there,  the  kind  and  true, 
Fair  youthful  friends,  and  good  as  fair  ; 

And  overhead  a  sky  of  blue, 
And  round  me  the  pure  air. 

And  far  below  the  river  ran  ; 

And  far  below  the  cultured  plain 
Was  smiling  with  the  abodes  where  man 

His  Eden  rears  again. 

(82) 


83 


And  one  was  near  whose  feet  with  mine 
Along  that  stream  had  often  trod, 

When  young  love  made  its  banks  divine, 
And  walked  earth  like  a  god. 

Along  the  river  paths  we  strayed, 
And  o'er  the  rough  and  wooded  hill, 

And  then  our  grassy  couch  we  made 
Upon  its  summit  still. 

With  lightsome  toil  we  reared  our  tent, 
We  held  sweet  converse,  free  from  art ; 

Love  hovered  round  where'er  we  went, 
And  Peace  was  in  each  heart. 

And  when  we  homeward  turned  again, 
As  day  drew  near  its  welcome  close, 

Our  sun  of  joy  set  free  from  stain, 
As  in  the  morn  it  rose. 


THE  VISION. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

In  the  mid  hour  of  night,  when  earthly  thoughts, 
Those  fetters  of  the  soul,  had  lost  their  power, 
And  slumbered  as  if  dead,  with  lightsome  spring 
My  joyful  spirit  glided  from  its  chains, 
And  sought  with  rapid  wing  the  upper  sky. 
There  for  a  time  I  bathed  in  beams  that  flowed 
Fresh  from  the  throne  of  God,  and  cleansed  my  soul 
From  the  pollutions  of  its  earthly  state. 
At  length  accustomed  to  the  heavenly  light, 
With  joy  I  gazed  around  me.     Angel  forms, 
Unseen  at  first,  with  spiritual  eyes, 
Full  of  deep  meaning  and  celestial  love, 
Were  gazing  on  my  face,  as  earnestly 
As  a  young  mother  on  her  new-born  child.  » 
With  tones  as  soft  as  those  which  memory  hears 
In  the  green  vale  where  flows  our  youthful  love 
Like  a  deep  river  tunefully  along, 
They  welcomed  me  to  heaven.     With  holy  joy 

(84.) 


T  H  E    V  I  S  I  0  X.  85 

They  said,  they  saw  a  star,  like  a  bright  dart, 

Shoot  from  its  crystal  gate,  (for  stars  are  naught 

But  angel  watchers  of  the  gates  of  bliss,) 

And  hasten  down  to  guide  my  soul  above 

To  stay  with  them  forever.     But  again 

They  looked,  and  saw  the  body  only  slept ; 

Again  to  wake,  again  to  prove  its  power 

Over  the  soul,  subjected  for  a  time 

In  heavenly  wisdom,  like  the  Man  of  Uz, 

To  the  dominion  of  the  evil  one. 

The  body  only  slept ;  I  might  not  long 
Delay  in  those  glad  realms — and  therefore  came 
Two  bright  celestials,  and  with  winning  smile 
Bade  me  my  thoughts  engage  in  noting  well 
My  future  home  of  bliss,  that  in  the  hours 
Which  come  to  all,  of  sorrow  and  of  pain, 
Hours  when  men  grow  aweary  of  the  earth, 
I  might  be  nerved  to  endure  them,  nor  repine 
At  what  my  fate  ordained.     With  them  I  trod 
Through  many  a  flowery  path,  and  felt,  the  joy 
Of  birds  and  winds  and  gently  flowing  streams. 
Yes,  felt  the  joy,  for,  not  as  on  the  earth, 
Where  perfect  sympathy  was  never  known, 
We  entered  in  the  soul  of  all  that  was, 
And  felt  enjoyment  equal  to  its  own. 


86  T  H  E     V  I  S  I  0  N. 

Our  joy  was  never  there  another's  pain, 

Our  pain  could  never  be  another's  joy. 

As  one  increases  in  celestial  strength, 

And  greater  capabilities  of  bliss, 

So  all  increase  in  strength  and  happiness. 

No  mortal  man  could  tell  the  whole  I  saw, 

No  earthly  tongue  express  the  joy  I  felt. 

Nor  earthly  heart  conceive  the  bliss  divine. 

It  is  not  lawful  for  my  eager  lips 

To  utter  that  which  angels  breathe  in  heaven. 

In  your  blind  wisdom  did  I  tell  you  all, 

You  would  but  mock  at  me.     Then  let  it  rest 

Like  a  bright  sunbeam  in  my  heart  of  hearts, 

Not  to  flash  forth  until  the  judgment  day. 

But  I  may  tell  of  that  which  I  have  seen 
Of  man's  triumphant  fortunes.     When  with  sad 
And  lingering  look  on  all  the  liquid  joys, 
Thus  flowing  in  and  mingling  with  each  other, 
I  turned  me  to  depart,  I  saw  below, 
Stretched  like  infinity  before  my  eyes, 
A  sight  of  wondrous  woe  and  power  and  beauty. 
The  world,  not  the  corporeal  only,  but  its  life, 
Which  is  the  incorporeal  and  the  real, 
The  past,  the  present,  and  the  future  tiiiu>, 
In  body,  soul  and  spirit  'neath  me  lay. 


T  H  E    V  I  S  I  0  N.  87 

Oh  for  a  pen  like  his  who  found  fit  words 
To  veil  from  mortal  sight  the  heavenly  rays 
Transfixed  in  the  divine  Apocalypse, 
And  yet  left  bright  what  man  might  know  and  live  ! 
Oh  for  a  vision  touched  by  heavenly  hand, 
Like  what  enabled  me  to  view  the  course 
Of  ages  all  unrolled,  that  you  might  see 
What  I  have  seen,  but  cannot  fully  tell. 
Oh  for  a  faith  like  that  which  prompted  him 
Whose  only  son  upon  the  altar  lay, 
That  you  might  bind  the  fiend  whom  men  call  Gain, 
And  raise  at  heaven's  command  the  ready  knife, 
That  all  may  see  that  he  is  not  your  God. 

For  Mammon  is  the  only  evil  power, 
The  only  Idol  of  rebellious  man, 
That  is  entirely  earthy.     All  the  rest 
Are  the  descendants  of  those  mortal  maids, 
For  whom  the  sons  of  God  forgot  their  place 
In  the  bright  realms  above  ;  renouncing  their 
Eternity  of  bliss  for  the  warm  arms 
And  passionate  embrace  of  human  love. 
And  thus  their  children,  sinful  though  they  be, 
For  good  can  never  from  the  unnatural  come, 
Oft  show  some  traces  in  their  low  estate 
Of  a  pure  nature  not  entirely  lost. 


88  THE    VISION. 

But  Mammon  is  the  child  of  Earth  alone. 

Defying  God  when  our  first  parents  fell, 

She  sought  in  fearful  pride  her  inmost  caves, 

And  gloated  o'er  the  treasures  by  whose  aid 

She  hoped  to  conquer  the  Eternal  One. 

Weary  at  length  with  her  obscure  abode 

And  solitary  state,  and  daring  not 

To  venture  where  the  sound  of  lute-like  leaves, 

Touched  by  the  fingers  of  the  maiden  Spring, 

And  ever  happy  songs,  beguile  the  good 

From  their  sad  loneliness,  she  fed  the  hope 

That  one  might  spring  perhaps  from  her  own  side 

To  comfort  her  in  her  dull  solitudes. 

The  strong  desire  at  length,  as  God  so  willed. 

Produced  fulfilment,  and  ere  long  a  child 

Crept  stealthily  the  floors  of  her  dark  caves. 

Sullen  he  was  from  very  infancy, 

Sullen  and  fierce,  save  when  his  little  hands 

"Would  grasp  unlooked-for  some  rich  wedge  of  gold 

Or  there  dull  diamond,  which  unknowing  why 

He  would  conceal,  creeping  with  cautious  eye 

But  careless  aspect  towards  a  secret  nook 

Where  he  could  hide  secure  his  precious  prize. 

For  miles  his  boyish  steps  would  often  trace 

Some  rich,  meandering  vein  of  virgin  gold, 

And  wish  the  time  had  come  when  with  man's  strength 


THE    VISION.  89 

He  might  enslave  these  creatures  of  the  mine. 
Thus  as  he  grew  in  years  he  grew  in  all 
That  even  unto  the  vile  is  odious. 
His  mother  first  would  by  her  lonely  side 
Have  kept  the  boy,  but  soon  his  face  became 
A  loathing  ev'n  to  her  ;  for  she  had  marked 
His  gaze  oft  resting  on  her  queenly  crown, 
Studded  with  brilliant  stones  unknown  to  man, 
Whose  starry  rays  need  not  the  quickening  power 
Of  sun  or  moon  to  call  them  into  life. 
She  therefore  shunned  his  presence,  and  a  fear 
Would  often  press  with  cold  and  heavy  hand 
Upon  her  heart,  when  he  would  cross  her  path 
Where  a  wild  river  flung  its  ebon  length, 
As  if  impelled  by  some  resistless  power, 
Moaning  and  writhing  down  the  soundless  depths 
Of  the  unfathomed  globe.     Well  might  she  fear, 
That  hapless  mother  !   she  had  proudly  mocked 
The  eternal  voice  that  called  her  into  life, 
And  now  the  wicked  child  of  her  own  womb, 
In  silent  thought  against  his  mother's  breast 
Oft  lifted  up  the  matricidal  hand. 
Once  when  in  saddest  thought  she  stood  upon 
The  jagged  rocks  that  rear  their  horrid  heads 
Where  madly  howls  the  miserable  stream, 
Whose  wretched  fortune  I  could  almost  mourn, 


90  T  H  E     V  I  S  I  0  N. 

She  felt  a  strange  desire  to  gaze  within 

That  fearful  gulf,  into  whose  gloomy  depths 

The  river  flowed  with  a  perpetual  moan 

Forever  and  forever.     Treading  slow 

She  stepped  from  rock  to  rock,  against  which  roared 

Madly  the  foaming  flood,  at  often  times 

Veiling  her  dizzy  eyes  with  trembling  hand, 

From  the  wild  whirling  waters,  till  at  length 

Upon  the  utmost  verge  of  the  abyss 

She  in  her  weakness  stood.     She  summoned  strength, 

And  leaned  with  terror  o'er  the  awful  depths 

Of  that  infernal  gulf.     No  sound  was  there 

Of  water  dashing  on  the  rocks  below  ; 

Naught  but  the  moaning  of  the  waves  above, 

And  the  swift  rushing  of  the  falling  stream, 

Met  her  attentive  ear.     With  straining  eyes 

She  sought  to  pierce  the  blackness,  but  in  vain  : 

Until  at  length  it  took  demoniac  shapes, 

And  beckoned  her  to  come.    She  would  have  screamed, 

But  could  not — nor  withdraw  her  frightened  gaze 

From  the  dark  phantoms  of  that  hideous  gulf. 

With  a  strong  will  she  oft  would  slowly  raise 

Her  stiffened  eyes,  but  the  swift-falling  stream 

Would  drag  them  down  again.     At  length  she  nerved 

Her  weary  soul,  and  summoned  all  her  strength 

For  the  last,  struggling  effort  of  despair. 


THE    VISION.  91 

With  a  loud  shriek  she  broke  the  hellish  charm, 

And  tore  her  eyes  from  the  infernal  depths. 

Short  victory  !  for  her  limbs  had  lost  their  power, 

And  ever  and  anon  her  spell-bound  sight 

Would  wander  downward  with  a  dread  desire 

To  meet  those  serpent  eyes — she  cannot  move — 

She  turned  her  head — oh,  welcome,  welcome  sight ! 

There  conies  her  son,  a  loathing  now  no  more. 

She  cries  aloud,  "  Help,  help,  thy  mother  dies  !" 

He  answers  not,  but  springs  from  rock  to  rock 

Like  the  wild  chamois.     He  is  by  her  side, — 

A  moment  longer,  and  he  were  too  late  ; 

For  see  she  totters  on  the  narrow  brink. 

"  Give  me  thy  hand,"  she  moans,  with  piteous  glance. 

He  reaches  forth  his  hand,  and  plucks  the  crown 

From  her  imperial  head,  then  slowly  turns, 

And  leaves  her  to  her  fate.     The  fiendish  act 

For  a  short  moment  nerved  the  mother's  soul, 

And  as  he  partly  turned,  he  started  back 

From  the  indignant  glance  that  pierced  him  through  ; 

Then  overcome  she  shrieked,  and  headlong  plunged 

Into  that  horrid  gulf,  that  gate  of  Hell. 

Her  further  fato,  how  far  she  fell,  how  long, 

It  matters  not,  my  pen  too  long  delayed 

Already,  from  the  account  of  what  I  saw 


92  TH  E    VISION. 

When  from  that  height  celestial  I  gazed  down 

With  more  than  mortal  vision.     Nor  had  I 

Thus  turned  aside  for  aught  of  trifling  wortli. 

But  in  this  land  by  God  so  highly  blessed, 

Mammon  hath  many  worshippers  ;  alas  ! 

This  meanest  of  false  gods,  who  hugs  his  gold, 

Begrudging  ev'n  its  sacriflce  to  build 

A  temple  to  himself,  is  worshipped  here 

Even  by  youth  and  beauty.     Yet  is  he 

No  generous  master  to  the  servile  crowd 

That  throng  around  his  vile,  worm-eaten  throne. 

Moloch,  infernal  king !  besmeared  with  blood, 

Will  shower  elate  upon  the  horrid  crew 

That  follow  where  his  crimson  footsteps  lead, 

His  hateful  gifts  of  rapine  and  of  murder  : 

For  them  upon  the  gory  battle-field 

He  spreads  a  banquet  worthy  of  a  fiend. 

There  they  may  quaff  from  early  morn  till  eve, 

From  the  rich  vein,  until  they're  drunk  wiih  blood, 

While  birds  obscene  fan  them  with  wanton  wing, 

And  shrieks  and  groans  are  their  inspiring  songs. 

Fall  down  and  worship  him,  and  these  are  yours. 

But  Mammon  is  a  miser  even  to  those 

Who  are  his  humblest  slaves.     He  answers  not 

When  importuned  for  gold,  or  with  a  whine 


THE    VISION  .  93 

Says  he  is  poor,  too  poor !   and  feeds  his  crowd 
Of  parasites  on  garbage  from  the  sewers. 
And  yet  man,  poor,  infatuated  man, 
Made  in  God's  image,  will  bow  down  before 
This  meanest  of  the  dark,  rebellious  powers, 
In  miserable  worship. 

But  I  turn 

From  this  unhappy  theme,  to  touch  with  joy 
The  harp  of  inspiration — to  unfold 
Before  your  mental  vision  what  I  saw, 
When  from  niy  heavenly  height  I  gazed  on  all 
That  ever  was,  or  is,  or  is  to  be, 
Upon  this  rolling  globe.     Presumptuous  hope ! 
Who  can  reveal  in  words  the  infinite  ? 
That  scene,  before  my  spiritual  eye 
As  vivid  as  the  lightning,  darts  away 
When  I  would  fetter  it  in  earthly  sounds. 
Censure  me  not  then  if  I  sadly  fail 
In  this  my  task  divine,  and  judge  me  not 
By  the  cold  rules  of  reason,  for  the  soul 
Poetic  and  prophetic  is  a  rule 
Unto  itself,  and  may  no  more  be  bound 
Than  the  Aurora's  soft  celestial  gleams. 
Like  it  then  may  I  hope  to  lighten  up 


94  THE    VISION. 

The  dusky  realms  of  what  to  man  is  night, 
Not  with  a  radiance  like  the  summer  sun, 
Beneath  whose  brilliant  dart  the  darkness  dies, 
But  with  continuous  streams  of  fitful  light, 
Behind  whose  rosy  veil  the  meek-eyed  stars, 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity,  gaze  sweetly  down. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  seventh  day, 
The  sabbath  of  creation,  and  the  earth 
From  all  her  dewy  flowers  and  fragrant  herbs, 
Breathed  forth  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  to  Him 
Who  called  them  into  life.     The  sky-lark  winged 
With  the  first  blush  of  morn  his  rapid  flight 
Into  the  blue  profound,  and  poured  his  heart, 
So  clear  and  joyous,  like  a  crystal  stream, 
On  the  sustaining  air.     Panting  with  bliss, 
The  songsters  of  the  grove  in  leafy  nooks 
Trilled  their  inspiring  notes,  until  they  seemed 
Embodied  music  ;  and  the  nightingale, 
Forgetting  in  his  joy  that  day  was  come, 
Flung  out  in  glory  his  surpassing  strain, 
And  led  the  heavenly  choir.     The  little  brooks 
In  joyous  tinklings  told  their  thankfulness ; 
Arid  mighty  ocean  with  his  rushing  roar, 
Like  a  vast  organ,  pealed  aloud  in  praise. 


THE    VISION.  %  95 

But  still  more  grateful  to  the  Father's  ear 
Rose  the  deep  voice  of  Adam,  as  in  prayer 
He  bowed  himself  before  the  Eternal  Throne. 
He  had  come  forth  from  the  embowering  shade, 
With  her  whom  God  had  given  him  when  he  told 
Of  his  sad  loneliness,  and  as  he  marked 
The  beauty  of  the  earth,  and  heard  the  birds 
Breathe  forth  the  deep  praise  of  their  passionate  hearts, 
And  looked  on  her  his  bride,  surpassing  all 
In  her  young  loveliness,  he  knelt  him  down, 
O'ercome  with  grateful  thought,  and  thanked  the  Lord 
For  his  unnumbered  gifts.     His  youthful  bride 
For  a  brief  moment  stood  irresolute, — 
A  moment  stood,  as  doubtful  how  to  act, — 
And  then  beside  him  knelt,  her  gentle  arm 
Around  him  softly  thrown,  while  the  big  tears, 
Unknowing  why  they  flowed,  upon  the  grass 
In  gentle  droppings  fell.     From  thence,  'tis  said, 
The  modest  violets  sprung.     The  few  short  words 
Their  hearts  had  prompted  said,  they  from  the  ground 
In  humbleness  arose.     Beautiful  pair  ! 
And  pure  as  beautiful !   no  sinful  thought 
Had  dimmed  the  innocent  lustre  of  the  eye, 
Nor  marred  the  tuneful  cadence  of  the  voice, 
Nor  paled  the  hollow  cheek.     Both  beautiful, 


96  T'HE  VISION. 

And  yet  how  different  in  grace  of  form, 

In  countenance  and  air.     His  beauty  was 

That  of  the  ruddy  even,  hers  was  like 

The  fair  and  gentle  morn.     The  ebon  hair, 

Like  a  dark,  severed  stream,  in  parted  waves 

From  his  high  brow  flowed  curling.    Large  black  eyes, 

Emblems  of  strength,  and  passion,  which  is  strength 

In  chaos 


LINES. 

Great  Power  of  Love  !  on  our  own  strength  relying, 
We  sink  beneath  the  vapory  shade  of  earth, 

Till  sorrow-stricken,  weary,  sad  and  sighing, 
We  mourn  the  hour  which  gave  the  spirit  birth. 

With  hopeless  heart — yes,  hopeless,  though  believing — 
We  turn  to  Thee  for  heavenly  warmth  and  rest, 

As  a  boy  pilgrim,  from  the  world's  deceiving, 
Turneth  disheartened  to  his  mother's  breast. 

Thou  breathest  in  our  souls  sweet  consolation, 

Thou  heal'st  the  wounded  heart  with  strains  of  love, 

And  whisperest  of  a  glorious  salvation, 
And  bright  perfection,  in  a  world  above. 

Again  we  turn  and  arm  us  for  life's  battle, 
Again  we  tread  our  two-fold  way  along ; 

The  body  where  sin's  volley'd  thunders  rattle, 
The  spirit  in  the  blessed  land  of  song. 


(97) 


LAUREL  HILL. 

1. 

Sweet  Laurel  Hill !  how  can  I  pass  thee  by, 
Nor  pour  my  tribute  on  thy  quiet  air ! 

Though  broken  be  ray  verse  as  mourner's  sigh, 
Yet  may  it  claim  alike  the  merit  rare 
Of  springing  from  the  heart ;  for  oft  when  care 

Has  twined  too  closely  round  me,  have  I  trod 
Among  thy  graves,  and  felt  I  might  not  wear 

Guiltless  the  chains  of  earth,  nor  kiss  its  rod — 
"  For  life  is  but  a  span,"  was  whispered  from  the  sod. 

2. 

The  young  and  innocent  have  here  been  laid 

Beneath  the  flowering  vine  and  sculptured  stone, 
To  sleep  until  the  voice  of  Him  who  made, 

Shall  rouse  them  from  their  rest  with  trumpet-tone. 
Sweet  calm  is  theirs.     Alas,  the  mother's  moan, 
And  trembling  frame,  have  told  her  stifled  woe, 
^        Who  leaves  this  spot  henceforth  to  tread  alone 

The  path  of  life,  and  feel  she  may  not  know 
Again  the  pressing  lip,  and  "  Mother,"  murmured  low. 

(98) 


LAUREL    HILL.  99 

3. 

And  to  these  shades  in  all  her  opening  bloom, 
The  youth  has  borne  his  fair  and  happy  bride. 

Oh  !  why  did  not  the  messenger  of  doom 
Bid  him  prepare  to  lie  down  by  her  side  1 
As  they  have  lived  in  love,  why  not  have  died 

Each  in  the  other's  arms'?     Most  Holy  Power! 
It  seemed  good  to  Thee  thus  in  the  pride 

Of  youthful  bliss  to  pluck  this  beauteous  flower — 
Oh  !  give  to  him  the  strength  he  needs  in  such  an  hour! 

4. 
Affection  here  has  reared  the  marble  pile, 

And  planted  the  white  rose  and  evergreen, 
And  graven  on  the  stone  in  varied  style 

The  names  of  those  who  may  no  more  be  seen. 

The  hoary  sire,  and  girl  of  gay  sixteen, 
And  he  who  steps  from  cradle  to  the  grave, 

Nor  knows  there  is  a  busy  lilo  between, 
All  sink  with  tears  beneath  oblivion's  wave — 
For  some  will  mourn  the  death  ev'n  of  the  vilest  knave. 

5. 
Think  not  there  lives  the  man  so  wholly  lost 

To  all  the  kindly  feelings  of  the  soul, 
That  when  l:i.s  bark  of  life,  long  tempest-tossed, 


100  LAUREL    HILL. 

At  length  goes  down,  and  waves  above  it  roll, 
No  hand  for  him  a  mournful  chime  will  toll, 

To  tell  the  world  the  story  of  his  fate. 
A  mother  lives  his  kindness  to  extol, 

A  widow  mourns  a  home  left  desolate, — 
For  never  lived  the  heart  that  could  not  find  its  mate. 


6. 
Far  toward  the  west  there  stands  a  monument, 

Whose  hapless  talc  the  hearer  can  but  mourn. 
A  wife  from  a  fond  husband  has  been  rent, 

Six  children  from  their  father  have  been  torn  ; 

And,  left  to  toil  through  life,  bereft,  forlorn, 
He  raised  this  tribute  to  their  memory — 

A  marble  base,  now  weather-brown  and  worn, 
Upholds  a  broken  column,  meant  to  be 
An  emblem  of  the  ruin  wrought,  oh  Death,  by  thce ! 


7. 

Upon  one  side  of  the  square  base  are  told 
The  names  and  ages  of  his  household  band, 

Laid  side  by  side,  like  lambs  within  the  fold : 
Arid  on  another  the  sad  sculptor's  hand 
Has  carved  a  full  blown  rose,  like  those  the  bland 


LAUREL     HILL.  101 

Air  from  the  sunny  south  loves  to  caress ; 

And  on  the  branch,  by  softest  breezes  fanned, 
Six  buds  uplift  their  infant  loveliness — 
And  fancy  sees  soft  eyes  which  make  us  turn  and  bless. 


For  all  were  cut  off  in  their  early  day, 

But  one  had  seen  the  seventh  summer's  sun, 

They  fell  before  the  frost  like  flowers  in  May, 
And  as  their  stems  were  severed,  one  by  one, 
The  ties  which  bind  to  earth  were  all  undone 

Within  the  mother's  breast — she  might  not  stay, 
When  those  she  loved  the  grave's  cold  kiss  had  won. 

She  wandered  'mid  their  scenes  of  merry  play, 
And  heard  sweet  voices   cry, — "  Dear  Mother,  come 
away !" 

9. 

As  mournful  is  the  tale  this  statue  tells 

Of  her,  the  wanderer  from  the  sunny  Rhine, 
Who  sought  an  exile's  home  where  Freedom  dwells, 

With  him  who  fled  from  ruthless  Constantino. 

Her  sweet,  sad  German  face,  as  o'er  a  shrine, 
Bends  o'er  her  infant  cherubs,  with  that  love 

Than  aught  on  earth  more  precious  and  divine. 
13* 


102  LAUREL    HILL. 

A  holy  calm  as  from  the  heaven  above, 
Seems  resting  on  the  spot,  and  bids  us  gently  move.* 


10. 
And  one  sleeps  here  who,  when  the  cloud  of  war 

Hung  heavy  with  defeat,  disgrace  and  shame, 
When  "  Hull's  surrender"  left  a  crimson  scar, 

That  on  the  nation's  forehead  burned  like  flame, 

Made  HULL  once  more  a  grand,  heroic  name, 
And  cooled  men's  brows  with  breezes  from  the  sea. 

Thou  wast  of  those  whose  thunders  first  did  tame 
The  ancient  Tyrant  of  the  waters  free, 
Sharing  with  all  mankind  the  fruits  of  victory  ! 


11. 

Thy  country  o'er  thy  dust  no  column  rears, 

She  mourns  thee  not  save  with  her  poets'  sighs, 

Thy  simple  monument  embalms  no  tears 
Shed  for  a  hero  by  a  people's  eyes. 
This  tomb,  this  starry  flag  that  on  it  lies, 


*  Helena  Sehaaf— wife  of  Henry  Dmochowski  Saunders— born  in 
Neustadt-on-tho-Rhmo,  May  24, 1823,  died  in  Philadelphia,  July  8, 1857. 
The  statue  is  in  a  beautiful  situation,  and  fatvs  down  the  river.  An  in 
scription  in  Latin,  informs  the  reader  that  the  husband  is  a  Polish  ex 
ile,  and  the  effigy  the  work  of  his  own  hand. 


LAUREL    HILL.  103 

This  eagle  clutching  bold  the  deadly  ball, 

Tell  but  of  him  a  woman's  heart  did  prize, 
Tell  but  of  her  who  lost  in  him  her  all, 
And  for  whose  "private"  worth  her  tear-drops  proudly 
fall.* 

12. 

Farther  below  a  granite  column  towers, 

Raised  to  the  memory  of  Erin's  son,f 
Who  knelt  at  freedom's  shrine  in  those  dark  hours, 

When  there  to  kneel  was  fearful  risk  to  run. 

Praise  to  his  name  !   the  battle-field  was  won, 
And  long  he  lived  to  mark  a  goodly  tree, 

Spreading  its  branches  to  the  air  and  sun. 

Oh !  would  to  God  that  all  beneath  were  free ! 

May  his  tomb  need  no  hand  of  "  Old  Mortality  !"J 


*  It  was  while  the  country  was  excited  to  the  uttermost  by  mingled 
rage  and  shame  at  the  disgraceful  surrender  of  General  William  Hull, 
at  Detroit,  in  August,  1812,  that  the  news  came  of  the  capture  of  the 
English  frigate  Guerriere,  Captain  Dacres,  by  the  Constitution,  com 
manded  by  Captain  Isaac  Hull.  His  tomb  bears  the  following  inscrip 
tion: — "In  affectionate  devotion  to  the  private  virtues  of  Isaac  Hull, 
his  widow  has  erected  this  monument." 

t  Charles  Thomson.  First,  and  long  the  confidential  secretary  of 
the  Continental  Congress.  Born  in  Ireland,  November,  1729,  died  in 
Philadelphia,  August  16,  1824,  in  his  ninety-fifth  year. 

J  A  fine  group  of  statuary,  carved  in  sandstone  by  the  Scottish 
sculptor  Thorn,  represents  Walter  Scott  listening  to  the  stories  of 
'•Old  Mortality." 


1 04  L  A  U  R  E  L    H  I  L  L  . 

13. 

For  here  is  alap  seen  that  gray-haired  man, 
His  form  upraised  above  the  mossy  stone, 

Telling  their  fate  whom  the  unsparing  ban 

Of  priestly  power  that  swayed  a  tyrant's  throne, 
Had  forced  to  speak  with  startling  musket-tone, 

And  far  from  home  in  shaded  glens  to  lurk, 
Till  Bothwell  from  its  slain  sent  up  a  moan 

For  vanquished  faith  and  persecuted  Kirk — 
Ah !  they  that  sleep  beneath  could  tell  of  that  day's  work. 

14. 

And  standing  near  with  grave  and  thoughtful  eye, 
Listens  the  bard  of  Scotia's  gifted  land, 

Whose  barren  mountains  and  whose  wintry  sky, 
Flushed  with  romance  beneath  the  glowing  hand 
Which  made  her  annals  beautiful  and  grand  ; 

He  hears  of  him  who  knew  no  idle  fear, 

Bold  Burley,  and  his  dauntless  peasant  band, 

And  nobler  Morton,  with  his  soul  sincere, — 
While  the  "  White  Pony"  lends  a  grave,  attentive  ear. 

15. 

Unhappy  Neal !  how  little  they  do  know 

Of  that  mysterious  thing,  the  human  heart, 
Who  deem  that  'neath  its  bright  and  mirthful  flow, 


LAUREL    HILL.  105 

No  grief  e'er  lurks  with  sad,  embittered  dart. 

Thine  was  the  jester's  gay,  fantastic  part, 
E'en  'mid  the  tortures  of  disease  and  care ; 

But  ever  informed  with  wisdom  was  thy  art. 
"  Alas,  poor  Yorick  !"  in  a  milder  air 
May'st  thou  with  joy  unlearn  the  lessons  of  despair. 

16. 

Greater  than  thou  was  he  whose  tomb  away 

In  solitude,  so  dear  to  dreamer's  soul, 

My  wandering  footsteps  found  unsought  one  day, 

Upon  the  ranges  of  the  wooded  knoll. 

Afar  I  saw  the  calm,  broad  river  roll, 

Like  a  great  life  its  destined  pathway  down, 

And    through  green  leaves  the  sun's  keen    dia 
monds  stole, 

Gemming  the  rugged  marble  with  a  crown. 
Whose  lonely  grave  is  this  ?     The  grave  of  BROCKDEN 
BROWN!* 


*  Charles  Brockden  Brown,  born  in  Philadelphia,  January  17,  1771, 
died  February  22,  1810,  aged  thirty-nine  years.  Griswold.  in  his 
'•Prose  Writers  of  America,"  says: — "Brown  was  the  first  American 
who  chose  literature  as  a  profession,  and  the  first  to  leave  enduring 
monuments  of  genius  in  the  fields  of  the  imagination.  *  *  *  He  was  a 
man  of  unquestionable  genius  and  a  true  scholar.  His  works  are 
original,  powerful  and  peculiar,  and  with  all  their  faults,  will  continue 
to  be  read  by  educated  and  thoughtful  men."  His  principal  works 
are  Wieland,  Ormond,  Arthur  Mervyn,  Edgar  Huntley  and  Clara 
Howard. 


106  LAUREL    HILL. 

17. 

AL,  child  of  genius,  and  of  sorrow,  too, 

How  my  young  heart  thrilled  'neath  thy  tragic 

page! 
First  in  this  Western  land  the  Muse  to  woo, 

And  with  feigned  woes  life's  bitter  griefs  assuage. 
These  glorious  hills  saw  Wieland's  maniac  rage, 
They    heard    that   voice   he    madly    deemed    from 

Heaven — 

Innocent  murderer  !   deluded  sage  ! 
And  ours  the  streets  young  Arthur  trod  at  even, 
Dark,  desolate,  and  still — struck  by  the  Plague's  cold 
levin. 

18. 

They  live  ev'n  yet,  those  children  of  thy  mind — 

And  can  it  be  then,  Brown,  that  thou  art  dead  ? 
That  thou  art  gone,  and  left  no  trace  behind, 

Save  what  now  moulders  in  this  darksome  bed  ? 

That  soul  of  fire,  which  lit  with  lurid  red 
The  ebon  clouds  of  circumstance  and  crime, 

Has  it,  a  meteor  light,  but  burned  and  fled  ? 
Or  dwell'st  thou  now  within  some  fairer  clime, 
Oh  spirit  too  finely  framed  for   earth    and  care   and 
time? 


LAUREL    HILL.  107 

19. 

No  answer  cometh  from  this  quiet  grave. 

No  word  but  Peace  is  breathing  from  thy  mould ; 

"  Peace,"  say  the  shadows  as  they  softly  wave, 
"Lie  down  and  sleep  within  this  peaceful  fold." 
No   more   than    Peace !     earth's    lesson    soon    is 
told. 

Only  within  the  soul  itself  a  cry 

Comes  struggling  forth,  as  man  and  nature  old, 

And  witness  bears  that  it  shall  never  die, 
But  live  and  love,  or  hate,  through  all  eternity. 

20. 
He  well  may  trust  that  voice  whose  children  fair, 

And  friends  beloved,  were  laid  this  sod  beneath  ; 
Oh,  visions  of  soft  eyes  and  sunny  hair, 
Ye  could  not  vanish  like  a  passing  breath  ! 
Thou  couldst  not  take  them  utterly,  oh  Death  ! 
Still  must  they  live  upon  some  brighter  shore, 

Still  with  gay  flowers  their  fair  young  foreheads 

wreathe, 

Still  with  warm  hearts  the  great  Supreme  adore, 
Growing  in  grace  and  strength  and  beauty  evermore! 

21. 

Oh !  wise  are  they  who  beautify  the  tomb, 
And  wean  us  from  our  foolish,  childish  dread, 


108  WORDS. 

Who  charm  from  off  the  soul  its  robe  of  gloom, 
When  o'er  the  grave  our  footsteps  lightly  tread. 
Ah !  well  I  know  that  soon  this  fevered  head, 
Beneath  thy  surface,  oh,  thou  Earth  !  must  lie, 

But  half  the  bitterness  of  death  is  fled, 
To  think  that  o'er  my  grave  the  gentle  sigh 
Will  sometimes  softly  come,  from  loved  ones  bending 
nigh. 


WORDS. 

War  to  the  knife, 

And  the  knife  to  the  hilt ; 
Wave  it  in  air, 

With  the  red  blood  gilt ; 
Fling  it  aloft, 

Till  it  stick  in  the  sky  ; 
There  let  it  stick 

Till  we  conquer  or  die ! 


THIRST  NOT  FOR  IOWA.* 

Though  tales  may  come,  as  came  of  old, 

Of  gardens  in  the  west, 
Where  man  may  dwell  with  ease  and  gold 

And  love  supremely  blest ; 
Yet  earth  is  earth,  where'er  it  be, 

And  work  is  never  play, 
And  who  will  have  sweet  minstrelsy, 

He  must  the  piper  pay. 

And  so  my  lads  and  lasses, 

My  lads  and  lasses  gay, 
Drink  still  from  your  old  glasses, 

Nor  thirst  for  Iowa. 

In  distant  view  our  eyes  we  turn 

To  the  horizon's  rim, 
Heaven  seems  so  near  the  earth,  we  burn 

To  hear  the  angelic  hymn  ; 
But  as  all  ardor  we  advance, 

We  find  the  heavens  still  far, 
And  own  that  space,  like  young  romance, 

Paints  things  not  as  they  are. 

*  Written  upon  the  failure  of  a  projected  emigration  scheme. 

13  (109) 


110  THIRST    NOT    FOR    IOWA. 

Thus  from  man's  cradle  to  his  tomb, 

Hope's  brightest  hour's  to-morrow, 
The  future  shineth  through  the  gloom 

That  clouds  his  heart  with  sorrow  ; 
But,  comes  the  future,  'tis  to-day, 

The  same  old  weary  Present ; — 
And  could  we  grasp  the  moon,  I  lay 

'Twould  prove  some  dull  tin  crescent. 

And  so  my  lads  and  lasses, 
My  lads  and  lasses  gay, 

Drink  still  from  your  old  glasses, 
Nor  thirst  for  Iowa. 


'When  men  forsake  the  student's  bower  for  gold." 

WORDSWORTH. 


Oft  when  I  stand  among  the  selfish  throng 

Who  crowd  the  busy  avenues  of  trade, 
Upon  my  spirit  flutters  many  a  song, 

That  in  my  heart  its  downy  nest  has  made  ; 
And  then  I  grieve  that  I  to  thee,  sweet  bird, 

May  not  devote  my  every  thought,  my  all, 
And  wander  where  ennobling  sounds  are  heard, 

By  the  wild  wood  and  tuneful  waterfall. 
But  soon  I  banish  such  despondency, 

And  pray  for  strength  to  walk  within  that  way 
That  has  in  wisdom  been  appointed  me, — 

For  well  I  know  that  He  whom  worlds  obey, 
If  it  be  right  my  hopeful  bark  will  guide 
Where  Poesy's  enchanting  waters  glide. 


(Ill) 


AFTER  A  LECTURE. 

I  loved  to  hear  him  best  who  told 
The  fate  of  the  great  Montrose  ; 

How  on  the  bloody  block  he  died, 
Victorious  o'er  his  foes. 

For  of  all  the  men  who  light  the  gloom 
Of  England's  troubled  age, 

Few  seem  so  free  from  littleness, 
So  full  of  noble  rage. 

And  he  who  wreathes  another  leaf 

Around  the  hero's  head, 
Or  freshens  with  his  tears  the  grass 

Above  the  glorious  dead  ; 

Who  keeps  alive  in  common  men, 
Honor's  soon  smothered  flame, 

Himself  may  lead  a  hero's  life, 
And  win  a  deathless  name. 

(112) 


MEMORY. 

When  sorrows  o'er  the  bosom  steal, 

Like  clouds  that  hide  the  sunny  ray, 
And  with  their  gloomy  robe  conceal 

The  cheerful  beauty  of  the  day  ; 

And  I  could  almost  madly  pray 
For  the  dread  quiet  of  the  grave  ; 

Kind  Memory  like  an  angel  flies, 
My  soul  from  dark  despair  to  save, 

And  bids  it  from  the  earth  arise, 
And  stand  erect  like  franchised  slave. 

Within  her  train  come  happy  hours 
That  answered  to  my  childhood's  call, 

Around  her  brow  are  wreathed  the  flowers 

That  boyhood  plucked  in  pleasure's  bowers, 
And  from  her  sweet  lips  gently  fall 

The  thrilling  love-tones  on  my  heart ; 
And  as  I  stand  entranced  a  voice 
Within  me  cries,  "  Rejoice  !   Rejoice  !" 

My  sorrows  fly — a  sunny  dart 
Has  pierced  them  through,  and  hope  once  more 
Gilds  all  my  feelings  as  before. 

13*  (113) 


PATIENCE. 

Possess  thyself  in  patience,  soul,  nor  strive 

To  do  great  works  thou  hast  no  call  to  touch ; 

Even  he  who  doeth  little  doeth  much, 
If  he  unvexed  but  keep  his  heart  alive. 
Ready  for  some  proud  day  of  sacrifice. 

We  should  not  move  but  at  the  Master's  call. 

The  soldier  who  with  ill-timed  rage  doth  fall 
Upon  the  enemy's  front,  shows  not  less  vice 
Than  he  who  shuns  the  combat,  when  the  roll 

Of  the  great  drums,  and  all  the  noise  of  war, 
Blend  with  the  stern  cry,  Forward !  and  the  whole 

Dark  mass  sweeps  on,  while  shakes  the  Dearth  afar. 
Be  patient  then  and  tranquil,  oh  my  soul! 

Rashness  the  best  and  purest  cause  may  mar. 


(114) 


CORA. 

Houris  in  the  heaven  above, 
Equal  ye  my  ladye-love  ? 
Spirits  of  the  summer  air, 
Have  ye  shapes  that  are  as  fair  ? 
Daughters  of  the  ocean  king, 
With  the  gold-fish  wandering, 
Do  your  eyes  a  lovelier  view 
In  the  gorgeous  depths  of  blue  ? 

Hers  is  not  a  form  of  light, 
Flashing  past  the  raptured  sight, 
Or  with  gentle  motion,  stealing 
From  the  heart  each  stormy  feeling  j 
But  a  form  where  grace  you  see 
Blended  with  sweet  dignity, 
Moving  by  you  like  a  queen, 
With  a  soft  yet  noble  mien. 

Features  are  not  hers  that  tell 
Mirth  rings  there  like  merry  bell  j 
Unlike  those  of  jest  and  folly, 
Or  affected  melancholy  ; 

(115) 


116  CORA. 

But  are  those  which  answer  well 
To  her  soul's  bewitching  spell, 
Lighting  with  enthusiast  feeling, 
Blushing  then  at  the  revealing. 

Eyes  there  are  which  sparkle  mirth, 
Like  a  sunlit  stream  of  earth, 
Or  with  scorn  can  lightning  flash 
From  beneath  the  cloudy  lash ; 
But  her  glances  seem  to  burn, 
When  on  you  they  proudly  turn, 
Piercing  to  the  heart  like  steel, 
Wounding  only  though  to  heal. 

But  why  tell  of  outward  grace, 
Queenly  form,  or  speaking  face, 
Noble  forehead,  broad  and  high, 
Or  a  bosom  burning  eye  ? 
Let  me  sing  of  mental  charms, 
Cradled  in  her  beauty's  arms, 
Thoughts  of  fire  which  blazing  dart, 
Lighting  up  the  kindred  heart. 

Words  which  flash  as  wild  they  run, 
Witty  speech,  or  sportive  pun, 
Or  the  merry  look  so  droll, 
Come  not  from  her  ardent  soul. 


COEA.  117 

But  from  out  her  bosom  flow 
Thoughts  that  with  warm  feeling  glow, 
Which,  half-uttered,  she  would  fain 
Prison  in  her  heart  again. 

But  my  pen  will  never  cease, 
(For  the  more  I  write  increase,) 
If  it  fondly  hope  to  tell 
All  the  charms  I  love  so  well. 
Blend  the  beauty  thou  hast  known 
Over  mortal  being  thrown, 
With  that  visioned  to  thy  spirit, — 
Faintly  see  then  Cora's  merit. 


TO 


Great  egotist  and  bigot !   I  should  deem, 
Were  I  as  void  of  charity  as  thou, 
That  fron)  a  soul  like  thine  could  never  flow 

Such  heavenly  musings  in  melodious  stream. 

But  I  have  learned  that  many  a  sunny  beam, 

Just  warm  from  heaven,  steals  to  the  earth  below, 
Where  opes  through  clouds,  pitch  black  with  hail 
and  snow, 

A  narrow  chasm  with  all  unhoped  for  gleam. 

And  valleys  where  the  everlasting  rock 
Bounds  in  on  every  side  the  fettered  eye, 
Keach  up  and  up  to  the  eternal  sky  ;— 

No  limits  there  the  eager  sight  doth  mock. 

And  the  great  sun  o'er  these  contracted  vales, 
As  o'er  the  open  champaign,  each  day  sails. 


(118) 


THE    I 

A    POEM. 
IN    THREE    PARTS. 


"  Of  forests  and  enchantments  drear, 
Where  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear  " 

Milton. 


(119) 


PREFACE. 

THE  design  of  the  following  poem  is  to  illustrate  the 
conflict  of  a  highly  poetical  and  extremely  sensitive 
nature  with  the  coarser  and  more  prosaic  elements  of 
society ;  and  the  eventual  reconcilement  of  the  poetical 
and  prosaic,  through  the  force  of  love  for  a  common 
object. 

The  poem  was  written  a  number  of  years  ago,  and 
while  the  author  is  conscious  that  it  is  marred  by  many 
of  the  faults  of  youth,  he  cherishes  the  hope  that  it 
possesses  some  of  the  merits  of  youth  also. 


(120) 


THE  RIVALS. 

PART  I. 

I  know  full  well  that  strains  of  gladness 

Are  welcomer  than  those  of  sadness  ; 

That  joyful  visions  nerve  the  soul 

When  sorrows  o'er  it  wildly  roll, 

To  breast  the  torrent  manfully  ; 

That  in  our  daily  course  we  see 

Sufficient  woe,  sufficient  care, 

Quick  actions  and  life-long  despair, 

To  prove,  alas !   that  life  is  aught 

But  a  gay  day-dream,  richly  wrought 

With  flowers,  and  light,  and  love's  embracing, 

And  not  one  shade  of  sorrow's  tracing. 

And  yet  it  seometh  well  to  me 
To  touch  at  times,  sweet  Poesy  ! 
Thy  magic  harp  to  mournful  numbers, 
And  waken  from  their  restless  slumbers, 
Those  sad'ning  strains  that  love  to  dwell 
Within  the  bosom's  inmost  cell. 
Oh !  for  me  they  have  a  pleasure 
Sweeter  than  the  lightsome  measure 

H  (121) 


122  THE    RIVALS. 

To  whose  tones  the  dancers  move 

In  the  gayety  of  love  : 

And  the  tears  that  fill  my  eye 

As  they  tremble  softly  by, 

And  the  swelling  of  my  breast, 

And  my  spirit's  sweet  unrest, 

Tell  that  a  diviner  power 

Floats  within  their  hallowed  hour. 

And  if  at  times  that  strain  of  sadness 

Swells  to  a  dirge  of  keen  despair, 
And  with  a  melancholy  madness 

Flings  its  wild  notes  upon  the  air- 
Oh !  blame  it  not — that  burst  of  grief 
May  give  the  anguished  heart  relief, 
May  loose  the  fountains  of  the  eye 
Which  rolls  in  tearless  agony, 
And  'neath  its  soft  refreshing  rain, 
The  pallid  cheek  may  bloom  again. 


What  words  can  tell  his  hapless  fate 
Who  feels  the  early  want  of  love, 

Yet  turns  away  disconsolate 

From  those  who  round  his  childhood  move, 

With  spirit  crushed  and  faint  and  dim, 

For  no  onu  seems  to  care  for  him ! 


THE    RIVALS.  123 

Oh  !  never,  from  my  earliest  youth, 
Had  I  a  friend,  a  friend  in  truth  : 
Many  I  loved,  or  could  have  loved, 

Had  they  but  deigned  to  glance  on  me, 
And  in  their  service  would  have  proved 

My  friendship  was  not  vanity. 
"  I  was  a  cold  and  quiet  child" — 
So  thought  my  father,  calm  and  mild — 
He  little  knew —  how  should  he  know  ? 
My  childhood's  agony  of  woe. 
None  but  a  mother's  eye  could  trace 
Beneath  that  still,  averted  face, 
And  in  that  low  embarrassed  tone, 
And  in  that  wish  to  be  alone, 
A  heart  which  needed  to  be  sought 
Within  its  silence  sorrow-fraught, 
A  spirit  like  the  lava  tide, 
That  pours  down  the    volcano's  side, 
Above  in  cold  and  sluggish  flow, 
A  fiery  torrent  far  below. 
None  but  a  mother's  heart  could  feel 
The  anguish  I  could  ne'er  reveal ; 
The  longing  for  a  friendly  breast, 

In  which  my  soul  like  some  strong  river, 
Might  pour  its  flood,  and  be  at  rest, 

And  flow  on  gently  then  forever. 


124  THE    RIVALS. 

Oh,  mother  !  thou  wert  far  away, 

In  the  glad  realms  of  endless  day  j 

But  didst   thou  not  in  musing  hours, 

Reclined  on  amaranthine  flowers, 

Feel  something  in  thy  breast  which  made 

Even  its  heavenly  calm  afraid, 

Lest  one  so  dearly  loved  had  need 

Of  thy  kind  words  and  tender  care, 
To  lure  him  from  the  depths  which  breed 

Unhappiness  and  wan  despair  ? 


Thus  passed  my  youth — the  thoughtless  days 
When  others  tread  a  flowery  maze, 

Were  but  a  thorny  path  to  me ; 
While  round  me  rung  their  laughter  wild, 
I  was  a  broken-hearted  child, 

The  early-called  of  n  isery  ! 
But  as  I  grew  in  jears  and  strength, 
A  change  came  over  me  at  length  ; 
No  longer  did  I  mourn  that  none 
Had  been  by  me  to  friendship  won  ; 
I  gloried  that  my  soul  was  proud, 
And  different  from  the  vulgar  crowd  ; 
I  shunn'd  the  intercourse  of  those 
Who  almost  seem'd  my  natural  foes, 


THE    RIVALS.  125 

And  in  a  gloomy  vale  apart, 
Caress'd  and  fondled  my  own  heart. 
In  nature's  breast,  at  length  I  cried, 
I'll  find  the  friendship  man  denied  ; 
I'll  tread  with  her  the  shadowy  wood, 
And  lean  above  the  foaming  flood, 
And  hear  the  distant  ocean  roar 
Against  its  everlasting  shore, 
Like  the  wild  rushing  of  the  blast, 
( When  tempests  gather  thick  and  fast,) 
Through  some  old  forest's  awful  shade, 
Where  roain  the  stern  and  mighty  dead. 


And  nature  loved  me  j  yes,  she  wore 
A  smile  I  ne'er  had  seen  before  : 
I  knelt  beside  the  playful  stream, 
And  caught  full  many  a  witching  gleam 
Of  her  dark,  brilliant  eye,  that  shone 
More  vivid  than  the  diamond  stone : 
I  sat  within  the  dark  green  wood, 
And  gave  my  soul  to  musing  mood, 
And  she  came  gently  up  to  me 
In  all  her  wise  timidity, 
And  whispered  in  my  ear  her  love, — 
I  could  not  speak,  I  could  not  move, 
11* 


126  THE    RIVALS. 

But  in  my  face  she  read  full  well 
The  bliss  my  tongue  could  never  tell. 

And  when  the  Tempest  rose  in  might, 
Like  chaos  from  the  realms  of  night, 
And  in  his  frenzy  would  have  hurled 
Destruction  on  a  blooming  world, 
I  saw  with  joy  her  lightning  spear 
Transfix  him  in  his  mad  career, 
And  bear  the  fierce  destroyer  back 
Upon  his  wild,  tumultuous  track, 
Until  he  sought  with  many  a  groan, 
Again  his  dark  and  heaving  throne. 

I  stood  on  the  volcano's  side, 
And  felt  a  fierce  and  fearless  pride, 
To  see  the  lava  deluge  flow 
In  fire  upon  the  plains  below ; 
Sweeping  the  woods  away  like  glass, 
Before  its  huge  and  glowing  mass  ; 
Filling  up  valleys  in  its  path  ; 
Overwhelming  cities  in  its  wrath  ; 
And  rushing,  with  a  battle  cry 
Like  that  which  pealed  along  the  sky, 
When  from  their  mountain  tops  at  even, 
The  Titans  stormed  the  gates  of  Heaven, 


THE    RIVALS.  127 


Against  the  dark,  eternal  sea, 
Its  everlasting  enemy  ! 


But  nature  cannot  fill  the  mind  ;— - 

It,  hungers  after  human  kind. 

She  may  beguile  us  for  a  while, 

And  win  us  with  her  witching  smile 

Where  stranger's  footsteps  ne'er  intrude, 

In  her  sweet  mountain  solitude  ; 

But  soon  we  feel  our  loneliness 

Like  ice  upon  our  bosoms  press. 

Oh  !  sweetly  sings  the  forest  bird, 

But  sweeter  far  a  spoken  word ; 

And  softly  azure  is  yon  sky 

Which  curtains  o'er  the  realms  of  glory, 
But  dearer  far  the  deep  blue  eye 

That  pictures   love's  delightful  story. 
And  then  I  left  my  forest  home, 
Nor  longer  would  with  nature  roam  :-— 
Think  not  she  chided  my  return, 
Or  did  me  from  her  presence  spurn. 
Not  so — she  took  me  by  the  hand, 
And  led  me  to  the  open  land, 
Then,  smiling  sweetly,  thus  she  said, 
Thus  softly  spake  the  immortal  maid  : 


128  THE    RIVALS. 

"  I  took  thee  from  the  world  apart, 
That  I  might  purify  thy  heart ; 
No  mother  did  thy  childhood  know, 
To  share  with  thee  the  hour  of  woe  ; 
I  bound  thee  with  my  magic  spell — 
Have  I  not  played  the  sister  well  ? 
Thou  goest  forth  into  the  world — 
Again  thy  spirit  must  be  furled, 
For  he  who  flings  its  folds  abroad, 
Must  wave  within  his  hand  a  sword, 
Upon  whose  bright  and  gleaming  sail, 
Vile  slander's  mists  shall  ne'er  prevail, 
And  dash  unstained  and  brilliantly, 
From  victory  to  victory. 
But  thou  wast  never  made  for  this, 
For  the  reformer's  hopeful  bliss ; 
Be  thine  the  equal  task,  to  win 
Thy  spirit  from  the  grasp  of  sin ; — 
For  he  who  with  truth's  healing  tides 

Cleanses  his  soul  from  taint  and  scar, 
Is  greater  than  the  chief  who  rides 

The  fiery  thunderbolt  of  war. 


"  I  leave  thee  now  to  breast  again 
The  world's  cold  blast  and  sleety  rain  ; 


THE    RIVALS.  129 

With  none  to  cheer  thy  fainting  soul, 
When  tempests  o'er  it  madly  roll, 
But  that  low  voice  which  softly  falls 

In  dewy  stillness  from  the  sky, 
Ev'n  when  the  mighty  thunder  calls, 

And  demon  shadows  cluster  nigh. 
Oh !   would  that  to  some  child  of  earth, 
Some  maiden  of  a  mortal  birth, 
My  guardianship  I  might  transfer ; 
How  gladly  would  I  yield  to  her 
The  pleasant  task  to  lead  thy  mind 
Into  communion  with  thy  kind  : 
I  have  done  all  a  spirit  could, 
To  make  thee  gentle,  mild  and  good; 
Have  breathed  a  peace,  before  unknown, 
O'er  thy  sad  breast's  continual  moan, 
And,  with  the  beauteous  hues  of  even, 
Sought  to  beguile  thy  soul  to  heaven : 
And  now,  I  break  the  magic  spell ; 
Be  bold  and  true — Farewell !  Farewell !" 


With  head  advanced,  and  straining  eye, 

I  listened,  but  could  not  reply ; 

I  listened,  but  I  could  not  see 

The  lovely  nymph  that  spake  to  me  : 


130  THE    RIVALS. 

At  times  a  misty  shadow  seemed 
To  hover  where  the  sunshine  gleamed ; 
And  then,  beneath  the  forest  shade, 
I  faintly  thought  a  soft  light  played  ; 
But  when  dull  silence  smote  my  ear 

With  sudden  and  discordant  tone, 
I  started  from  my  trance  in  fear, 

And  felt,  alas  !  I  was  alone. 
With  tears  I  left  that  peaceful  glen, 
And  sadly  sought  my  fellow  men ; 
Determined  I  would  act  my  part 
With  fearless  and  heroic  heart ; 
Resolved  to  sympathize  with  all ; 
To  echo  back  the  merry  call ; 
To  mingle  with  the  toiling  crowd, 
Who  madly  weave  their  spirit's  shroud  ; 
And  seek  gay  pleasure's  world  of  care, 
Where  round  white  brows,  so  young  and  fair, 
A  wreath  is  flung  whose  fragrant  breath 
Is  laden  with  remorse  and  death ! 
Yes,  mingle  with  them  all — and  keep 

My  spirit  free  from  every  stain — 
To  weep  with  those  who  sadly  weep, 

And  smooth  the  uneasy  couch  of  pain  ; 
And  ever  lend  the  ready  hand 
At  truth's  and  charity's  command  j 


THE    RIVALS.  131 

And  by  my  self-devotion  move 
Mankind  to  gratitude  and  love. 

And  if,  oh  sweet,  luxurious  thought ! 
Some  gentle  spirit  should  be  brought 
By  love's  kind  angel  to  my  side, 
To  be  the  friend  my  youth  denied ; 
How  gladly  would  1  float  along, 

Rocked  by  each  moment's  rosy  wave, 
Existence  one  continual  song, 

Toward  that  port  of  heaven,  the  grave  ! 

I  sought  the  world ;.  but  day  by  day, 
My  hopeful  visions  fled  away. 
I  could  not,  oh !   I  could  not  move 
My  fellow  beings  unto  love ! 
I  stood  among  the  toiling  crowd, 
And  called  on  them  with  accents  loud, 
To  leave  the  glittering  dross  of  earth, 
And  seek  for  things  of  heavenly  birth  : 
The  rich  gold  of  a  generous  mind, 
The  pure  pearls  of  a  spirit  kind, 
And  with  all  holy  wishes  fraught ; 
The  flashing  diamond  of  thought, 
Which  lightens  through  the  passed-away, 
Until  it  gleams  like  yesterdny, 


132  THE    RIVALS. 

And  high  above,  like  stars,  are  seen 

The  saints  and  heroes  that  have  been  ; 

Warriors  that,  giant-like,  have  strode 

Along  Fame's  rough  but  glorious  road  ; 

Kings,  whose  bright  crests  and  waving  plume, 

Like  foam  upon  a  sea  of  gloom, 

Mark  where  the  billowy  world  in  wrath 

Has  swept  along  its  destined  path ; 

Seers,  who  above  the  roaring  flood 

Of  joy  and  agony  and  blood, 

Its  onward  course  could  boldly  trace, 

And  bid  the  waters  know  their  place  ; 

And  Poets,  who  with  gifted  sight, 

Proclaimed  a  soft,  celestial  light, 

In  the  dim  future  breaking  forth, 

Like  the  Aurora  in  the  north, 

And  touched  by  a  prophetic  power, 

Sang  sweetly  of  a  coming  hour, 

When  o'er  the  earth  that  light  shall  spread, 

And  from  their  tombs  shall  spring  the  dead, 

And  from  his  throne  wild  chaos  hurled, 

Shall  rule  no  more  the  ransomed  world. 

Thus  said  I  to  the  restless  throng ; 

And  mocking  laughter,  loud  and  long, 

Broke  from  them,  as  they  turned  a^ain 

To  heap  up  gold  and  sin  and  pain  ; 


THE    RIVALS.  133 


And  one,  with  cold  and  glassy  eye, 
Cursed  me  aloud  as  I  passed  by. 


With  softened  tread  and  stifled  breath 
I  stood  beside  the  couch  where  death 
Was  battling  sternly  for  his  prey ; 
But  youth  will  wrestle  manfully ; 
For  hope  is  strong,  and  love  still  clings 

To  the  low  grove  where  first  it  sung, 
Nor  pants  to  soar  on  golden  wings, 

The  rosy  clouds  of  heaven  among. 
It  is  an  awful  thing  to  stand 

By  the  dim  couch  in  such  an  hour, 
And  feel  the  dying's  icy  hand 

Grasp  yours  with  a  convulsive  power  ; 
And  mark  the  changes  that  denote 

That  life's  sad  flame  is  burning  dim, 
The  low  quick  gasping  of  the  throat, 

The  quivering  of  the  lip  and  limb. 
Oh  !  thoughts  will  press  upon  you  then 
Of  many  an  unrepented  sin  ; 
Of  words  you  have  in  anger  spoken 

To  him  who  now  before  you  lies, 
The  last  slight  fetter  nearly  broken, 

That  holds  his  spirit  from  the  skies ! 

12 


134  THE    RIVALS. 

But  he,  by  whose  low  bed  I  stood, 
Ne'er  suffered  from  my  angry  mood  : 
No  friend  nor  relative  of  mine 

Was  he  upon  whose  pallid  cheek 
Was  written  many  a  fearful  sign 

That  death  was  strong  and  life  was  weak. 
For  weeks,  beside  that  sick  man's  bed, 
With  anxious  eye  and  careful  tread, 
And  strength  no  watching  could  abate, 
I  hung  upon  his  doubtful  fate. 
'Twas  mine  to  bathe  his  burning  face, 
To  give  him  drink,  to  shift  his  place, 
And  gratify  his  every  whim ; 
What  man  could  do  I  did  for  him. 
At  length  a  cool,  refreshing  sleep 

Rested  upon  the  sick  man's  brow, 
So  calm,  so  peaceful  and  so  deep, 

We  knew  that  life  had  triumphed  now  j 
And  from  that  hour  he  mended  fast, 
Each  day  was  stronger  than  the  last, 
And  soon  he  left  his  humble  door 
With  step  as  vigorous  as  before. 


I  sought  that  man  in  after  days, 

When,  through  blind  fortune's  devious  ways, 


THE    RIVALS.  135 

Of  him  and  his  I  stood  in  need ; 
But  "  he  was  busy  then,  indeed  !" 
There  was  this  thing  that  must  be  done, 
And  that,  before  to-morrow's  sun ; 
His  children,  too,  they  must  be  fed, — 
"  No!  let  them  starve  !"  I  sternly  said  ; 
And  turned  away,  in  bitter  scorn 
That  such  a  wretch  was  ever  born. 

Oh  !  who,  in  court,  or  lady's  bower, 
Can  tell  the  secret  of  that  power, 
By  which  the  happiness  of  one 

Is  bound  unto  another's  heart, 
So  that  a  word,  a  glance,  a  tone 

Can  joy  or  misery  impart ! 
Oh,  who  can  read  that  witching  spell, 

Which  beauty  o'er  her  worshippers, 
Flings  from  the  soft  eye's  dreamy  cell, 

Until  your  very  soul  is  hers, 
And  in  her  service  you  would  press 

Where  life  is  crowded  with  the  brave, 
And  dare  all  but  forgetfulness, 

That  doom  more  dreadful  than  the  grave . 

Yes  !   even  now,  that  form  of  light 
Floats  like  a  dream  before  my  sight : 


136  THE    RIVALS. 

Again  I  see  that  face  where  love 

Sat  softly  brooding  like  a  dove ; 

The  cheek's  luxurious  repose. 

Whose  virgin  freshness  shamed  the  rose  ; 

And  the  rich  curls  whose  sunny  fall 

Flung  a  soft  radiance  over  all ! 

But  not  in  these,  though  these  alone 

Around  my  heart  a  spell  had  thrown, 

So  full  of  passion  and  of  might, 

I  lived  but  in  its  wild  delight ; 

But  in  her  calm  and  tranquil  mood, 

So  free  from  guile,  so  meek,  so  good ; — 

The  innocency  of  her  breast, 

Where  gentle  longings  lay  at  rest, 

Like  snow-white  lambs,  at  noontide  seen 

Upon  some  cool  and  shady  green  j 

The  trusting  hopefulness  of  youth, 

So  full  of  purity  and  truth, 

Which  listens  with  a  doubting  sense, 

Born  of  its  love-full  confidence, 

Unto  the  warning  voice  of  age, 

Telling  of  man's  deceit  and  rage ; — 

Oh  !   in  these  spiritual  charms 

I  saw  that  holy  radiance  shine, 
To  which  my  childhood  stretched  its  arms, 

With  feelings  it  could  not  define  ! 


THE    RIVALS.  137 

Day  after  day  I  sought  her  side, 

And  every  soft  allurement  tried 

To  win  her  love,  that  I  might  be 

No  more  the  child  of  misery. 

At  length  I  thought  her  tender  heart 

Was  yielding  to  the  lover's  art ; 

Her  tone  grew  softer  when  I  came, 

Her  cheek  would  color  at  my  name, 

And  from  my  own  her  clear  blue  eye 

Would  turn  with  love's  timidity  ; 

At  least  I  thought  so,  though  perchance 

It  was  but  my  enraptured  glance, 

Which  with  its  passionate  reply, 

Caused  her  to  turn,  she  knew  not  why. 

And  yet  at  times,  when  she  would  start 

At  the  wild  words  which  from  my  heart 

Came  rushing,  free  and  strong  and  bold, 

Like  waves  that  would  not  be  controlled, 

Arid  look  upon  me  as  with  fear, 

I  thought  I  was  no  longer  dear  ; 

And  cursed  the  mood  that  might  have  driven 

My  soul  from  her  and  love  and  heaven. 


Some  months,  perhaps  a  year,  passed  by ; 
It  seem'd  nor  long  nor  short  to  me  ; 
12* 


138  THE    RIVALS. 

For  when  the  pulse  is  beating  high, 
And  o'er  the  heart  swift  feelings  fly, 
In  the  mad  revelry  of  strife, 
When  passion  strains  the  chords  of  life, 
Or  in  that  wild  and  thrilling  hour 
When  first  we  pluck  love's  virgin  flower, — 
Time  is  not,  but  Eternity  ! 


That  year — or  was  it  but  a  day  ? 
To  live  was  more  than  to  decay ! 
Its  memory  comes  o'er  me  now 
Like  a  cool  breeze  upon  my  brow ; 
And  though  my  life  has  been  a  scene, 

From  youth  to  age,  of  more  than  pain, 
For  that  bewildering  hour  between, 

I'd  live  it  o'er  again  ! 

For  I  was  ever  by  her  side ; 
Exulting  with  a  lover's  pride, 
As  some  new  charm,  from  hour  to  hour, 
Sprang  forth  and  blossomed  like  a  flower. 
We  trod  together  the  green  wood, 
And  by  the  sparkling  fountain  stood, 
And  hand  in  hand  we  climbed  the  hill, 
Or  followed  gayly  the  sweet  rill, 


THE    RIVALS.  139 

That  like  a  merry-hearted  child, 

Wanders  alone  through  thickets  \vild, 

Through  valleys,  and  through  meadows  green, 

Hiding  as  fearful  to  be  seen, 

And  laughs  along  its  truant  way 

At  those  who  would  have  said  it  nay ! 

And  yet,  though  we  were  thus  alone 

Where  nature's  softly  varied  tone, 

The  flowery  earth,  the  sky  above, 

Dispose  the  youthful  heart  to  love, 

Ah,  never  did  I  dare  to  speak 

Of  love  unto  that  maiden  meek. 

Although  no  longer  did  she  shrink 

From  the  wild  frenzy  of  my  fever, 
Like  the  lone  wanderer  from  the  brink 

Of  some  unseen,  dark  whirling  river  ; 
But  would  with  many  a  soothing  word, 
Sweet  as  the  carol  of  a  bird, 
Restrain  my  passion's  fierce  excess, 
And  conquer  pride  with  tenderness, 
Yet  could  I  not  persuade  my  heart 
She  acted  more  than  a  sister's  part ; 
And  thus  I  feared  to  speak  to  her 
Like  what  I  was,  her  worshipper, 
Lest  in  my  boldness  I  should  sever 
The  bond  between  our  souls  forever : 


140  THE    RIVALS. 

And  if  some  holy  power  of  heaven, 

Had  to  my  heart  assurance  given, 

That  I  might  always  live  as  then 

In  that  unknown,  sequestered  glen, 

And  thus  through  life's  dark  waters  glide 

Forever  by  her  lovely  side, 

I  would  have  crushed  without  a  sigh, 

My  longings  for  a  nearer  tie, 

And  thanked  the  God  of  Light  above, 

For  my  sweet  sister's  gentle  love  ! 


THE  RIVALS. 

PART  II. 

Deep  in  the  soul  the  tree  of  life  is  planted, 

From  whose  fair  branches  heavenly  virtues  spring ; 
But  round  the  cavern'd  boughs,  by  angels  haunted, 

Poisonous  vines,  like  hideous  serpents,  cling ; 
One  moment — opens  a  sweet  bud  of  glory ; 

The  next — there  blooms  a  cold  and  deadly  flower ; 
And  the  soft  murmur  of  love's  blissful  story, 

Blends  with  the  frenzy  of  the  battle  hour. 
The  winds  may  strive  to  banish  hate  and  sorrow, 

The  waters  seek  to  cleanse  the  tainted  soul, 
And  solitude  earth's  holiest  music  borrow, 

But  the  fierce  serpent  mocks  their  vain  control. 

Among  my  schoolmates,  there  was  one 
Whose  presence  I  did  ever  shun  ; 
I  know  not  why  it  was,  but  he 
Was  always  hateful  unto  me  : 
His  every  tone  of  joy  or  fear, 
Grated  on  my  averted  ear ; 

(141) 


142  THE    RIVALS. 

His  look  of  triumph  and  of  pride, 
Wakened  disgust  I  could  not  bide  ; 
And  as  I  yielded  to  its  power, 
It  on  me  grew  from  hour  to  hour, 
Until  I  loathed,  yes,  even  more 
Than  aught  that  I  had  known  before. 
More  than  the  slimy  worm  which  crawls 
On  some  old  temple's  ruined  walls, — 
Oh  God  of  mercy,  spare  thy  ban ! 
This  child  of  thine,  my  brother  man  ! 


You  ask  if  in  his  bosom  dwelt 

The  same  aversion  which  I  felt ; 

No !  for  his  breast  was  calm  and  cold, 

Compared  to  mine  ;  his  feelings  rolled 

Like  a  dull  river  o'er  a  plain, 

Inert  and  sluggish  to  the  main  : 

His  soul  was  never  made  to  thrill 

With  the  extremes  of  good  and  ill, 

To  mount  upon  hope's  blessed  wing, 

Where  seraph  and  archangel  sing, 

Or,  in  fear's  horrid  arms,  to  leap 

Where  things  obscene  and  loathsome  creep, 

And  hear,  like  a  dull,  distant  knell, 

The  dreadful  revelry  of  hell. 


THE    RIVALS.  143 

That  want  of  sympathy,  which  broke 
Upon  me  like  a  thunder-stroke, 
So  that  I  felt  his  very  tread, 
And  from  his  coming  footsteps  fled, 
Upon  him  came  with  feebler  burst : 
He  felt  no  loathing  at  the  first ; 
None  of  that  deep,  instinctive  hate, 
Which  all  my  will  could  not  abate ; 
But  by  degrees  within  his  mind 
A  cold  dislike,  uncaused  and  blind, 
Which  misinterpreted  my  deeds, 
And  found  no  flower  among  the  weeds. 
Grew  up,  and  he  accosted  me, 
With  slight,  repelling  courtesy. 


In  all  the  hopes  that  boyhood  hath, 

That  boy  was  ever  in  my  path  : 

He  was  the  only  one  who  could 

Rival  my  aim  in  the  wild  wood  ; 

He  was  as  fleet  of  foot  as  I, 

Could  fling  the  ball  as  far  and  high, 

And  in  our  school-hours  none  could  see 

That  either  had  the  mastery. 

But  he  was  loved,  alas !  by  all, 

And  I  was  loved  by  none — their  call 


144  THE    RIVALS. 

Would  ring  out  gayly,  when  the  gush 

Of  merry  voices  broke  the  hush 

Of  the  still  school,  for  him,  their  head, 

Prepared  to  follow  where  he  led : 

While  I  would  sadly  steal  away 

Unnoticed  from  the  eager  play, 

And  seek  some  lone,  secluded  spot, 

To  weep  o'er  my  unhappy  lot : 

And  ofttimes  through  my  brain  would  steal 

The  thought,  too  bitter  far  to  heal, 

That  if  he  only  would  depart, 

J  then  might  gain  the  general  heart, 

(For  of  the  rest  no  one  could  hope 

With  me  in  skill  or  strength  to  cope,) 

And  by  my  fearless  daring  move 

My  reckless  comrades  unto  love. 


And  when  from  nature's  holy  fane 

I  slowly  turned,  to  tread  again 

'Mid  scenes  of  cold  and  heartless  joy, 

I  met  him,  now  no  more  a  boy. 

But  time,  though  it  had  left  its  trace 

In  the  fixed  muscles  of  the  face, 

And  changed  the  stripling's  slender  form 

To  manhood's  bruad  and  noble  bearing, 


THE     RIVALS.  145 

Prepared  to  breast  the  wrathful  storm, 
And  never  fail  for  want  of  daring, 
Had  not  removed  his  cold  dislike, 
Which  would  condemn,  but  would  not  strike, 
Nor  my  aversion,  scarcely  hid, 
To  all  he  said,  or  looked,  or  did. 


It  was  a  lovely  summer  night : 

The  moon  looked  down  in  calm  delight 

Upon  a  hushed  and  tranquil  world ; 
The  earth  lay  sleeping  like  a  child, 
Over  whose  features  undefiled, 
Glides  with  a  pure,  seraphic  gleam, 
The  light  trace  of  a  heavenly  dream ; 

And  ev'n  the  storm  cloud  which  lay  furled 
In  the  low  bosom  of  the  west, 
Seemed  charmed  to  peacefulness  and  rest 
By  the  soft  silvery  smile  which  played 
Within  its  black  and  rugged  shade, 
Like  a  young  maiden,  bright  and  good, 
Within  some  old  and  dark-browed  wood. 
I  had  been  kept  by  men  away 
From  Helen's  presence  all  the  day ; 
Had  mingled  in  their  empty  strife, 
And  fought  as  if  for  fame  and  life  ; 
13 


146  T;HE  RIVALS. 

And  as  I  hastened  to  her  side, 

I  dwelt  with  rapture  and  with  pride 

On  the  kind  welcome  which  would  greet 

The  sound  of  my  approaching  feet. 

I  gazed  upon  the  scene  around, 

Where  each  discordant  shape  was  drowned 

In  a  clear  flood  of  dewy  light ; 

And  thought,  thus  has  my  heart  of  night 

Been  overflowed  by  radiant  love, 

From  the  pure  fount  of  bliss  above. 

But  ere  that  thought's  ethereal  trace 

Had  vanished  from  my  mind  like  breath, 
A  change  came  over  nature's  face, 

A  change  like  that  from  life  to  death. 
One  moment — to  the  fresh'ning  gale 
The  hillside  spreads  its  gleaming  sail ; 
Another  comes — and  where  is  now 
The  dazzling  mount's  majestic  brow, 
The  valley,  and  the  silvery  flow 
Of  waters,  murmuring  soft  and  low  ? 
All !  all  are  fled !  and  where  they  stood, 
Rolled  a  black  ocean's  sullen  flood ; 
And  like  a  wreck  above  it  shone 
With  ghastly  light  the  cold  grave-stone  : 
Yes  !  glaring  through  the  ebon  gloom, 
The  only  beacon  was  the  tomb ! 


THE    RIVALS.  147 

Why  was  it  that  I  turned  my  head, 
And  looked  behind  me  as  in  dread  ? 
Why  from  my  breast  did  gladness  flee  ? 
Was  it  that  dark  cloud's  witchery  ? 
Why  should  I  mind  a  passing  cloud  ? 
It  wraps  the  earth  though  like  a  shroud  ; 
And  the  fierce  storm-winds,  as  they  fly, 
With  shrill,  wild  laughter,  echo,  why  ? 


I  stood  beside  the  well-known  door  : 

Why  did  I  stand  irresolute'? 
I  ne'er  had  felt  as  then  before  : — 

Was  that  the  low  tone  of  a  fluto  ? 
It  was  !   and  hark,  it  breathes  arain, 
And  pours  its  rich,  melodious  strain. 
Oh  !  never  did  a  funeral  bell 
Toll  such  a  sad,  desponding  knell, 
As  that  proud  strain,  so  bold  and  clear, 
Sounded  upon  my  fearful  ear !   , 
At  length,  with  slow  and  noiseless  tread, 
And  hardly  knowing  what  I  did, 
I  gained  a  window  where  the  light 
Streamed  out  upon  the  solid  night, 
And  hid  within  the  curtaining  gloom, 
Gazed  fearfully  into  the  room. 


148  THE    RIVALS. 

There  sat,  and  as  I  gazed  my  blood 
Swept  through  me  like  an  icy  flood, 
And  for  a  moment's  space  my  brain 
Swam  dizzily  with  intensest  pain, 
Yes  !  seated  by  my  Helen's  side, 
And  gazing  on  her  in  his  pride, 
In  pride  that  has  in  love  its  birth, 
The  man  I  hated  most  on  earth ! 

Ye  who  have  seen  a  comrade  fall 
Beneath  your  own  accursed  ball  ; 
Ye  who  have  stood  beside  the  bier, 
And  shed  the  unavailing  tear 
Over  the  sire  your  deeds  of  gloom 
Have  brought  in  sorrow  to  the  tomb  ; 
Or  who  have  knelt  beside  the  grave 
Of  her  you  would  have  died  to  save  ; 
And  felt  that  sinking  of  the  heart, 
That  wish  that  life  would  then  depart, 
That  you  might  sleep,  and  feel  no  more 
The  woe  you  only  could  deplore ; 
May  understand  the  deep  despair, 
The  agony  which  smote  me  there  ! 

With  faltering  step  I  turned  away  : 
I  could  not  weep,  I  could  not  pray, 


THE    RIVALS.  149 

I  could  not  reason  what  was  best, 
When  on  my  brain  such  madness  prcss'd  : 
I  turned  me  from  that  once-loved  door," 
Which  I  might  never  enter  more  ; — 
What  did  I  care  that  round  my  path 
The  lightning  quivered  in  its  wrath  ! 
With  scornful  smile  I  stretched  my  hand 
To  grasp  it,  as  it  were  a  wand ; 
What  cared  I  that  the  thunder  sped 
In  sharp,  quick  volleys  o'er  my  head  ? 
I  stood  erect,  nor  bowed  my  form 
Before  the  demon  of  the  storm, 
And  dreaded  not  his  vengeful  spear ; — 
For  grief,  like  love,  can  cast  out  fear  ! 

Ere  long  upon  my  fevered  brain, 
The  knowledge  fell  like  fiery  rain, 
That  my  forebodings  were  not  vain : 
That  eve  was  not  the  first  that  he, 
Now  doubly  known  my  enemy, 
Had  met  with  her  whose  every  tone 
I  had  so  longed  to  call  my  own. 
He  was  the  chosen  of  her  bower 
In  girlhood's  young  and  timid  hour ; 
And  when  that  budding  spring-time  fled, 
And  the  new  glory  round  her  head, 
13* 


150  THE    RIVALS. 

And  the  soft  eye's  redoubled  power, 
Told  womanhood  began  to  flower, 
She  gave  to  him  her  gentle  heart, 
Without  restraint  or  fear  or  art ; 
And  when  at  duty's  stern  command, 
He  lingering  left  his  native  land, 
She  dried  her  tears  and  banished  pain, 
And  gave  to  hope  the  silken  rein, 
And  waited  with  a  holy  trust 
In  the  eternal  and  the  just, 
For  the  sweet  hour  when  he  should  come 
On  love's  swift  pinions  to  her  home, 
And  in  her  warm  embrace  forget 
The  tedious  months  since  last  they  met. 


And  I  had  met  her  in  those  hours, 
When  o'er  her  bosom's  early  flowers 
A  cloud  had  passed,  beneath  whose  shade 
She  dwelt  in  peace,  and  not  afraid, 
But  with  a  gentler  (could  it  be  ?) 
Sense  of  her  own  sweet  dignity ; — 
And  while  I  gazed  upon  her  face, 
Enraptured  with  each  lovely  grace, 
Her  absent  thoughts  were  far  away ; 
His  form  was  near  her,  day  by  day ; 


THE    RIVALS.  151 

His  voice  forever  in  her  car, 

With  its  cold  tones,  to  her  so  dear, 

And  his  that  musing  mood  which  proves 

That  she  who  feels  it  truly  loves. 

I  never  sought  her  presence  more  : 

I  could  not  meet  her  as  before  ; 

And  he  was  ever  by  her  side, 

And  soon  would  claim  her  as  his  bride. 

How  could  she  bear  to  look  on  one, 

And  own  him  as  her  being's  sun, 

From  whom  my  every  sense  shrunk  back. 

As  from  a  serpent's  hated  track  ? 

How  could  she  press  the  very  hand, 

That  I  recoiled  from  as  a  brand 

Flashing  before  the  star! led  sight, 

Within  some  forest's  gloomy  light  ? 

How  could  she  love  the  loud  cold  tone, 

So  harsh,  and  different  from  her  own, 

So  calm,  self-confident  and  bold, 

That  of  a  coarser  nature  told, 

And  jarred  upon  my  every  sense, 

And  filled  me.  with  disgust  intense. 


But  she  did  love  him,  and  for  me 

There  was  no  further  happiness  : 


152  THE    RIVALS. 

I  was  "upon  a  wide,  wide  sea, 

Alone  !   alone  !"  with  none  to  bless  : 
And  yet,  upon  my  heart  at  first, 
That  dreadful  knowledge  did  not  burst 
With  the  same  fearful,  blasting  power 
That  smote  it  in  a  later  hour. 
No  !  as  upon  the  west  at  even 
Linger  the  rosy  tints  of  Heaven, 
Ev'n  when  the  sun  has  fled  the  sight, 
And  with  its  chill  embrace  the  night 
Has  in  her  gloom  and  stillness  come 
To  make  the  awe-struck  world  her  home  ; 
So  on  my  darkening  soul  I  ween, 
Lingered  the  glory  that  had  been, 
And  with  its  softly  fading  ray, 
Smoothed  the  departure  of  the  day. 


But  soon  upon  my  bosom  came, 
Like  an  uncurbed,  destroying  flame, 
The  mournful  memory  of  the  past ; — 
The  bliss  that  I  had  won  at  last ; 
The  few  short  hours  of  love  and  gladness, 
When  from  my  spirit  fled  its  sadness  ; 
And  that  dread  moment  of  despair, 
When,  with  a  fixed,  unearthly  stare, 


THE    RIVALS.  153 

And  breathings  that  came  thick  and  slow, 
While  cold  drops  gathered  on  my  brow, 
I  gazed  with  sad  and  hopeless  glance, 

Upon  that  sight  which  told  me  all, 
Like  one  who,  wakening  from  his  trance, 

Sees  the  tomb's  cold  arid  slimy  wall. 


I  sought  again,  I  know  not  why, 

The  paths  that  I  with  her  had  trod  : 
There  was  the  same  still,  azure  sky, 

There  was  the  freshly  springing  sod ; 
The  streamlet  seemed  to  bound  along 
As  full  of  life,  as  full  of  song  ; 
The  breezes  played  around  my  head 
A  moment  and  then  onward  fled ; 
I  heard,  as  they  came  fast  and  nigh, 
Their  waving  garments  rustle  by  : 
Yes,  nature,  careless  nature,  wore 
The  same  glad  aspect  as  before. 
But  I  was  changed,  and  could  not  see 
The  beauty  which  had  raptured  me, 
When  with  an  angel  for  my  guide, 
I  had  explored  the  mountain  side ; 
The  sky  then  o'er  me  seemed  to  bend 
Kind  as  an  old.  familiar  friend, 


154  THE    RIVALS. 

The  brook  its  sweetest  music  brought 

To  wreathe  around  each  lovely  thought, 

The  breeze  would  come  with  fingers  fair 

And  kindly  part  my  floating  hair, 

And  all  around  me  seemed  to  tell 

With  varied  grace  they  loved  me  well. 

But  now  no  welcome  met  my  ear, 

No  joyful  song,  no  whisper  dear  ; 

The  playful  breeze,  and  ev'n  the  brook. 

Passed  by  me  with  averted  look  ; 

They  cared  no  more — why  should  they  care 

For  him  who  wandered  sadly  there. 

The  sunshine  on  my  dazzled  sight 

Glared  with  a  cold,  unearthly  light ; 

I  turned,  and  sought  the  forest  shade, 

But  its  deep  gloom  and  stillness  weighed 

Upon  my  spirit  in  that  hour, 

With  undefined  though  dreadful  power ; 

Until  I  left  with  aching  breast, 

The  paths  I  once  so  gladly  pressed, 

And  felt  their  beauty  had  departed 

With  her,  the  pure  and  gentle  hearted ! 

At  length,  with  a  determined  mind 

I  said,  this  grief  no  more  shall  bind 

My  spirit  in  its  mournful  cell ; 

In  foreign  lands  I'll  break  the  spell, 


THE    RIVALS.  155 

Forget  what  has  been,  as  a  dream 

That  eddies  on  sleep's  glassy  stream, 

And  o'er  the  earth  a  wanderer  roam, 

Nor  ask  its  millions  for  a  home. 

But  though  I  often  said  :  "  to-morrow, 

And  I  will  leave  this  land  of  sorrow," 

I  never  could  resolve  to  go, 

Until  I  heard  that  word  of  woo, 

That  she  I  loved  had  pledged  her  faith, 

That  faith  which  woman  keeps  till  death, 

To  him  who  from  my  childhood's  hour, 

So  oft  had  clouded  o'er  my  day, 
And  trampled  on  the  only  flower 

That  ever  bloomed  along  my  way. 


I  know  'twas  very  weak,  but  I 
Before  that  hour  could  never  fly. 
I  had  no  hope  that  she  could  be 
What  she  had  been  again  to  me  ; 
And  yet  as  clings  the  swimmer's  hand, 
Even  in  dying,  to  the  sand 
On  which  he  lies,  far,  far  below 
The  upper  wave's  tumultuous  flow  ; 
As  turns  the  exile  to  the  shore 
Whose  borders  he  shall  see  no  more, 


156  THE    RIVALS. 

And  dreams  that  in  the  distant  sky, 

And  its  light,  cloudy  drapery, 

He  still  beholds  his  native  land ; 

So  turned  my  eye,  and  clung  my  hand, 

To  that  last  hope,  which  hope  was  none, 

That  sunshine  from  a  perished  sun. 


No  longer  did  I  wish  delay : 
The  only  tie  was  rent  away 
That  bound  me  to  my  native  earth  : 
For  me  there  blazed  no  household  hearth 
No  sister's  lip  was  pressed  to  mine ; 
No  mother  for  her  son  would  pine  j 
And  what  cared  I  if  o'er  my  head 
My  country's  brilliant  azure  spread ; 
Or  darker  skies,  whose  dismal  light 
Scarce  differed  from  another  night  ? 
Oh  blame  me  not,  my  native  clime ! 
That  I  forgot  thee  for  a  time ; 
For  soon  upon  my  breast  returned 
The  love  I  had  so  madly  spurned  : 
For  who  can  long  forget  the  sod 
On  which  his  boyish  footsteps  trod  ; 
The  shadowy  wood,  so  dark  and  still ; 
The  wide-spread  meadow,  and  the  rill 


THE    RIVALS.  157 

Round  which  in  childish  glee  he  played, 

And  sported  with  the  slight  cascade  ; 

The  tree  upon  whose  giant  breast 

He  nestled  from  the  lowering  west, 

And  smiled  to  see  the  lightning  fly 

On  strong  and  flashing  pinions  by ; 

The  lake  within  whose  cooling  wave 

His  heated  form  at  eve  he'd  lave, 

While  with  the  excess  of  joy  he  laughed, 

As  every  pore  the  nectar  quaffed ; 

The  hills  within  whose  caverned  sides 

Even  at  noon  no  sunbeam  glides, 

And  where  with  slow  and  solemn  tread 

He  ventured,  filled  with  awe  and  dread ; 

Yet  felt  withal  a  fearful  pleasure, 

Like  one  who  seeks  a  buried  treasure, 

By  the  cold  stars  uncertain  light, 

While  clouds  sweep  o'er  the  gusty  night ; — 

Oh  who  these  memories  can  eiface 

With  ruthless  violence  from  his  brain, 
And  leave  within  no  lovely  trace 

Of  that  which  ne'er  may  be  again ! 


I  stood  upon  the  vessel's  side, 
And  waited  for  the  sluggish  tide, 
14 


J58  THE    RIVALS. 

To  bear  me  from  my  native  clime, 
And  her  whom  now  to  love  were  crime. 
I  felt  no  more  the  keen  distress, 
The  fiery  flood  of  bitterness 
Which  flowed  upon  me  when  I  woke 
In  anguish  from  the  thunder  stroke, 
Only  to  wish  that  I  had  died 
By  that  which  smote  me  from  her  side. 
Now,  when  I  thought  of  her,  my  heart 
Oft  linked  by  a  mysterious  art, 
Her  image  with  his  odious  form  ; 
A  rosebud  and  a  loathsome  worm 
They  seemed  to  my  distempered  thought ; 
And  though  her  memory  was  fraught 
At  times  with  the  sweet  calm  of  heaven, 
It  seemed,  oh  may  I  be  forgiven ! 
In  other  stormier  moods,  so  clothed 
With  his  whose  very  name  I  loathed, 
That  I  with  scorn  would  oft  repel 
The  thought  of  her  once  loved  so  well. 


At  length  our  broad  and  fluttering  sail 
Caught  to  its  heaving  breast  the  gale, 
And  panting  with  its  keen  delight, 
Sprang  forth  on  its  uncertain  flight ; 


THE    RIVALS.  159 

And  as  my  native  mountains  fell 
Behind  the  ocean's  distant  swell, 
I  thought  of  those  I  left  behind, 
The  noble  hearted  !  and  the  kind ! 
At  least  they  seemed  so  then,  for  ne'er 
Had  they  before  been  thought  so  dear, — 
Nor  knew  I,  till  I  left  its  strand, 
How  much  I  loved  my  native  land. 

But  while  my  eyes  were  filled  with  tears, 
And  swayed  my  heart  with  hopes  and  fears, 
I  slowly  turned — can  that  be  he 
Whose  presence  I  had  hoped  to  flee  ? 
Must  he  forever  follow  me  ? 
No  !  I  was  not  deceived  ;  that  tread 
Above  my  dull  and  buried  head, 
Would  wake  me  from  my  dreamless  sleep, 
And  through  my  veins  the  blood  would  creep 
In  cold  slow  drops,  and  yet  too  fast, 
Until  his  careless  step  had  passed  : 
No,  I  was  not  deceived,  that- form, 
Though  now  with  youth  and  triumph  warm, 
I  should  mistake  not,  though  it  press'd 
That  shadowy  undefined  of  rest, 
Which  the  dim  phantoms  of  the  dead 
With  half-unconscious  footsteps  tread, 


160  THE    RIVALS. 

Until  at  the  great  Trumpet's  call, 
They  darken  round  the  judgment  hall. 


I  heard,  though  not  till  after  time, 
His  parents  lived  in  the  olden  clime ; 
And  at  their  summons  he  had  said 
Farewell  to  her  whom  he  had  wed 
But  one  short,  blissful  month  before, 
That  they  might  see  his  face  once  more. 

But  as  it  chanced,  I  knew  not  then 
Why  he  had  left  that  lovely  glen, 
And  her  whose  heavenly  presence  made 
The  sunshine  as  a  pleasant  shade ; 
The  shadow  as  a  glorious  light ; 
The  noonday  as  the  spangled  night ; 
The  midnight  as  a  glowing  morn, 
A  dewy  rosebud,  newly  born, 
And  flinging  fragrance  all  around, 
Upon  the  air,  upon  the  ground, 
Until  we  faint  with  its  excess 
Of  odorous  deliciousness. 

Oh  'tis  a  glorious  thing  to  sail 

Upon  the  vast  and  mighty  sea  \ 
14* 


THE    RIVALS.  161 

And  bid  its  snow-capped  billows  hail, 

The  emblems  of  the  truly  free  ! 
Unlike  the  Andes'  rocky  form, 
Scarce  yielding  to  the  moulding  storm, 
And  which  in  stubborn  strength  defies 
The  influence  of  centuries  j 
Unlike  the  worthless  creeds  of  old, 
Rooted  in  custom's  clinging  mould, 
And  which  in  dreadful  fetters  bind 
Alike  the  body  and  the  mind  ; 
They  sway  with  every  impulse  given 
By  the  soft  wind,  the  breath  of  heaven, 
And  follow  on  the  earth  their  wise 
And  meek-eyed  leader  of  the  skies  ! 


Day  after  day  we  sailed  along 
Before  that  breeze  so  fresh  and  strong, 
Until  the  seventh  morning  broke 
Upon  the  sea  in  vapory  smoke. 
Hoarse  moaned  the  billows :  and  the  sun 
Rose  from  the  gory  wave  as  one 
Who  all  the  night  with  furious  tread, 
Among  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
Had  swept  along  the  battle  plain, 
And  marked  his  pathway  by  the  slain. 
14* 


162  THE    RIVALS. 

Yes,  like  a  warrior  king  he  rose, 

Who  hears  the  hated  tread  of  foes, 

And  calls  his  subjects  from  afar, 

To  join  the  dreadful  ranks  of  war  j 

And  at  his  bidding,  overhead 

His  dark  terrific  legions  spread, 

With  swift  jet  silent  march  they  poured 

Around  the  banner  of  their  lord, 

Then  flung  its  sable  folds  abroad, 

And  waved  on  high  the  lightning  sword, 

And  down  the  black  vault  of  the  sky 

Rushed  with  their  fierce  artillery. 

The  earth  stood  still,  when  on  it  first 

The  rattling  thunder  madly  burst, 

As  if  the  massive  arch  of  Heaven 

From  its  foundations  had  been  riven, 

And  with  a  crashing,  heavy  sound, 

Had  fallen  to  the  vast  profound. 

The  earth  stood  still,  like  one  who  hears 

A  strange,  dread  sound  with  sudden  fears, 

And  then  with  an  unearthly  cry, 

Bounds  on  his  path  in  agony  : — 

So  sprung  all  nature  from  its  trance, 

And  casting  round  a  fearful  glance, 

Rushed  madly  on,  it  knew  not  where, 

Wild  with  its  terror  and  despair. 


THE    RIVALS.  163 

Our  vessel  reeled  beneath  the  blast, 
Which  drove  her  without  sail  or  mast, 
Like  a  thin  cloud  where'er  it  would ; 
For  we  had  done  what  mortals  could, 
And  waited  now  in  dread  suspense, 
The  stern  decree  of  Providence. 

It  was  a  strange  and  dreadful  sight 

That  met  us,  when  the  livid  light 

Flashed  forth  at  times  that  awful  night : 

Oh  !   there  were  men  bowed  down  in  prayer 

That  God  their  guilty  lives  would  spare, 

Who  never  had  bent  the  stubborn  knee 

Since  the  frolic  hours  of  infancy, 

When,  at  the  holy  even  tide, 

They  knelt  by  their  dear  mother's  side, 

With  guileless  heart  and  sinless  brow, 

And  prayed  for  that  they  needed  now. 

And  there  was  a  boy  with  a  manly  heart, 

Who  did  not  fear  from  life  to  part, 

But  by  his  pale  young  sister  stood, 

So  meek  and  beautiful  and  good  ! 

And  whispered  words  of  hope  and  cheer  : 

But  she  could  not  restrain  the  struggling  tear ; 

Not  that  she  dreaded  to  die,  oh  no  : 

When  her  Father  called  she  was  ready  to  go  ; 


164  THE    RIVALS. 

But  there  was  one  in  a  distant  land, 

To  whom  she  had  plighted  her  heart  and  hand, 

And  she  thought  how  sadly,  day  by  day, 

He  would  look  for  her  who  was  far  away, 

And  the  frenzy  of  his  heart  and  brain, 

When  he  should  hear  that  ne'er  again 

He  might  behold  the  eye  that  shone 

Always  on  him,  on  him  alone. 

And  there  was  a  mother,  who  sternly  press'd 

Her  sleeping  infant  to  her  breast, 

(For  midst  fearful  sight  and  anguished  tone, 

That  innocent  child  still  slumbered  on,) 

And  with  her  shawl  she  had  bound  it  there, 

That  not  even  the  waves  from  her  side  should  tear 

The  gentle  flower  that  had  been  given 

Unto  her  prayers  by  love  and  Heaven. 

And  there  were  two  who  stood  apart, 

Cheek  pressed  to  cheek,  and  heart  to  heart ; 

Their  bosoms  felt  no  wild  alarms, 

For  they  were  in  each  other's  arms ; 

They  did  not  fear  the  stormy  weather, 

If  they  might  only  die  together ; 

And  she  had  torn  her  belt  in  haste 

From  round  her  softly  moulded  waist, 

And  bade  him  bind  them  so  that  they 

Might  like  one  spirit  pass  away. 


THE     RIVALS.  165 

The  morning  dawned,  and  with  it  came 
A  whispered  fear,  that  spread  like  flame  ; 
They  said  the  ship  was  sinking  fast; 
"  Another  hour  must  be  the  last !" 
Then  strong  men  pushed  the  weak  aside, 
With  dreadful  oaths,  to  which  replied 
Low  smothered  curses,  (such  as  chill 
The  heart  when  all  is  bright  and  still, 
But  with  that  awful  sky  o'erhung, 
Curdled  my  blood,)  and  madly  sprung 
Into  the  boat,  which  the  wild  sea 
Tossed  in  its  fierce,  capricious  play, 
Like  a  panther  sporting  with  his  prey, 
Till  it  was  crowded  fearfully. 


With  threats  and  menaces  at  last 
They  loosed  the  rope  that  held  us  fast, 
And  rowed  where  we  might  safely  mark 
The  fierce  death  struggle  of  our  bark. 
Oh  never  may  man  hear  again 
Such  supplications  made  in  vain, 
As  we  were  forced  to  hear  from  those 
O'er  whom  the  waves  were  soon  to  close  : 
They  begged  that  we  would  save  them,  we 
Who  every  moment  feared  the  sea 


166  THE    RIVALS 

Our  heavy  laden  boat  would  fill  : 

They  heeded  not  our  words,  but  still 

Implored  and  prayed  that  we  would  save 

Them  from  the  stern,  remorseless  wave  : 

But  others  stood  in  calm  despair, 

With  those  they  loved  all  gathered  there, 

Sustained  by  an  eternal  power 

Through  that  slow-paced  and  dreadful  hour. 


At  length  a  loud  and  fearful  sound, 
Like  the  last  death  shriek  of  the  drowned 
Before  he  sinks  beneath  the  wave, 
Burst  from  the  ship,  as  from  a  grave  ; 
And  then  more  dreadful  than  that  cry, 
Was  the  shrill  scream  of  agony, 
Which  from  those  hapless  wretches  came, 
And  wild  appealings  to  His  name, 
Whose  voice  could  calm  the  raging  sea 
Of  dark,  tempestuous  Galilee  ; 
And  then  an  awful  stillness  spread 
Over  the  scene,  as  with  a  dread, 
Convulsive  start  that  vessel  sprung, 
With  all  the  souls  that  to  her  clung, 
Beneath  the  waves,  and  left  no  trace 
To  mark  her  fearful  resting  place, 


THE    RIVALS.  167 

Save  the  strong  whirlpool's  sudden  swell, 
Save  the  dark  water's  mournful  knell, 
Save  the  sad  memories  that  roam 
From  the  now  lone  and  quiet  home, 
And  weave  their  melancholy  song, 
All  tearful  as  they  float  along, 
Above  the  ocean  tomb  where  lie 
The  loved  and  young  of  days  gone  by  ! 

One  crowded  boat  alone  was  left : 
A  hundred  beings  had  been  reft 
Of  life  and  motion,  and  the  sea 
Had  closed  above  them  eagerly  ; 
One  shattered  boat,  without  a  sail, 
Which  reeled  beneath  the  abating  gale, 
Alone  remained  of  all  the  pride 
Which  winds  and  waves  alike  defied, 
And  seemed  a  thing  of  beauty,  sent 
A  queen  for  that  wild  element ! 

Was  it  not  strange  that  he  and  I 

Were  both  among  that  small  boat-crew  ? 
It  seemed  to  me  he  could  not  die 

Save  by  the  bolt  that  smote  me  too. 
Yet  even  in  that  dreadful  hour 
Our  hate  had  scarcely  lost  its  power ; 


168  THE    RIVALS. 

Far  apart  as  stern  from  prow, 

He  and  I  were  seated  now  ; 

And  not  a  word  of  hope  or  fear, 

Not  even  a  glance,  to  soothe  or  cheer. 

Parted  his  lips,  or  lit  my  eye, 

During  that  hour  of  agony. 


Our  boat  unmanageable  lay 

Upon  the  waters  till  noonday  ; 

Then  a  rough  sailor  and  untaught, 

Spake  out  aloud  what  all  had  thought : 

He  said  that  some  must  die,  or  none 

Could  hope  to  reach  the  shore  ;  the  sun 

Now  shone  with  cold  and  gloomy  light, 

But  all  foretold  a  stormy  night : 

"  Let  us  cast  lots" — with  trembling  hold 

Each  took  the  fluttering  slip,  that  told 

Whether  his  course  was  yet  to  be 

A  little  longer  on  the  sea, 

Or  whether  to  his  briny  foe 

He  should  some  minutes  sooner  go  : — 

They  rise,  that  brave,  devoted  band ! 

And  for  a  moment  silent  stand, 

Gazing  upon  the  sky,  the  main, 

And  all  they  ne'er  shall  see  again 


THE    RIVALS.  169 

An  instant,  for  a  hurried  prayer, 
Another,  and  but  one  is  there  ; 
A  slender  boy,  who  clasps  his  hands, 
And  in  a  death-like  stupor  stands, 
(It  is  so  hard  for  youth  to  die, 
And  leave  the  world's  sweet  melody  ! ) 
Then  plunges  'neath  the  opening  tide, 
The  purest  yet  the  last  who  died. 


Was  it  not  strange  that  I  and  he, 
\Vho  was  ev'n  yet  my  enemy, 
Were  still  among  the  favored  few 
To  whom  capricious  fate  was  true  ? 
For  now  with  long  and  lusty  pull, 
We  skimmed  the  waves  like  the  sea-gull, 
And  ere  an  hour,  oh  joyful  sight ! 
The  clouds  rolled  from  the  heavens  so  bright ; 
And  from  their  sable  folds  their  lord 
Sprung  flashing  like  an  unsheathed  sword  j 
Burning  above  with  diamond  blaze, 
Which  dazzled  cur  enfeebled  gaze  ; 
And  far  away  within  the  west, 
Above  the  dark  wave's  sparkling  crest, 
We  saw  a  speck  of  deeper  blue 
Than  ever  winds  or  waters  knew  ; 
15 


170  THE    RIVALS. 

And  then  a  shout  of  triumph  sprung, 
Like  Hope  unfettered,  from  the  young ; 
And  the  old  smiled,  and  from  their  eyes 
Wiped  tears  of  gladness  and  surprise. 
But  even  in  that  joyful  glow 
I  turned  not  kindly  to  my  foe  ; 
Once,  when  I  looked  with  kindling  glance 
Upon  each  happy  countenance, 
My  eye  met  his ;  I  coldly  frowned, 
And  turned  with  haughty  heart  around ; 
And  as  I  turned,  a  shadow  cold 
Flung  o'er  the  earth  its  gloomy  fold  : 
I  thought  a  moment  that  the  sky 
Frowned  on  my  bitter  enmity. 


We  neared  the  land — it  was  an  isle 
Where  rocks  in  wild  confusion  pile 
Their  threat'ning  forms,  like  dragons  dread, 
With  naming  scales  and  eyes  of  red, 
Which  guard  from  sinful  step  and  hand, 
The  gorgeous  realms  of  fairy  land  : 
And  dismal  caverns,  opening  wide 
Their  horrid  jaws,  we  faintly  spied, 
Where  with  a  low,  convulsive  roar 
Against  the  stern  and  rugged  shore, 


THE    RIVALS.  171 

The  shuddering  waves  were  fiercely  hurled 

By  the  mad  demon  of  the  world. 

And  now  our  boat  was  forced  along 

As  by  some  spirit,  fierce  and  strong, 

Towards  that  high  and  rocky  coast ; 

And  the  billows  howled,  lost !  lost ! 

And  madly  leaped  around  our  way, 

Exulting  in  their  vengeful  play. 

But  hark — what  means  that  sudden  cry 

From  thy  compressed  depths,  agony ! 

A  rood  before  the  boat  there  lay, 

Like  a  fiend  watching  for  his  prey, 

A  sharp  black  rock,  so  covered  o'er 

That  none  had  noticed  it  before ; — 

And  now  it  was  too  late,  one  sweep 

Of  the  stern  waves,  and  we  were  flung, 
The  weak  and  strong,  the  old  and  young, 

Into  the  madly  whirling  deep. 

As  tired  men  to  a  heavy  sleep, 

So  yielded  most  unto  the  main, 

Outworn  with  toil,  unnerved  by  pain  ; 

But  others  would  not  yield  their  breath 

So  tamely  to  the  vampire  death ; 

With  frenzied  arms  they  struck  the  wave, 

And  called  on  those  who  could  not  save, 


172  THE    RIVALS. 

Struggling  to  reach  the  boat,  which  still 
Lay  on  the  waters,  tossed  at  will, 
As  some  have  struggled  for  a  crown, 
Until  she  filled  and  soon  went  down  ; 
And  then  they  knew  that  hope  was  none, 
And  sank  despairing,  one  by  one, 
Till  only  two  were  left  with  me 
To  breast  that  rough,  tremendous  sea. 


Was  it  not  strange  that  he  and  I 

Were  thrown  together  thus  to  die  ? 

To  die  !  and  yet  our  strength  may  serve 

To  reach  perchance  that  distant  shore ; 
We  can  but  fail,  strain  every  nerve, 

For  ne'er  had  you  such  cause  before. 
With  lusty  arms  we  threw  aside 
The  opposing  waves,  and  like  a  tide 
Bore  us  right  nobly  tow'rd  the  land  ; 

But  ere  our  journey's  half  was  done, 
Our  comrade's  weak  and  failing  hand 

Told  that  his  course  was  almost  run  : 
We  could  not  help  him,  and  he  knew 
It  were  but  our  destruction  too ; 
lie  asked  it  not,  but  slowly  sank 
Beneath  the  infuriate  waves,  which  drank 


THE    RIVALS.  173 

His  struggling  being  up  with  fiendish  laughter, 
Then  turned  with  furious  howls,  and  hurried  after 
Those  who  still  fled  upon  the  treacherous  flood, 
Fierce  as  a  tiger  that  has  tasted  blood. 


With  arms  that  weak  and  weaker  grew 

With  every  stroke,  we  neared  the  shore; 
Arid  not  too  soon,  for  well  I  knew 
That  I  had  sunk  outworn  before, 
Had  it  not  been  for  a  broken  oar 
That  some  relenting  wave  had  flung 
Within  my  reach :  and  then  I  sprung 
With  slackening  sinews  newly  strung, 
Towards  that  rocky  coast  and  bare  ; 
But  hold — where  is  my  comrade — where  "? 
I  turned,  and  saw  him  faintly  meeting 
The  waves  which  over  him  were  beating, 
Perishing  there  within  a  rood 
Where  he  in  safety  might  have  stood  : 
With  hasty  strokes  I  gained  his  side, 
And  with  a  sudden  gush  of  pride, 
Gave  to  his  grasp  my  buoyant  oar ; 
Then  turned  again  and  sought  the  shore, 
Aiding  with  weak  but  ready  hand, 
My  enemy  unto  the  land. 
15* 


174  THE    RIVALS. 

A  wild  and  swollen  wave  at  length 
Flung  us  with  its  resistless  strength 
Upon  the  shore,  and  there  we  lay, 
With  hardly  strength  to  crawl  away 
From  its  returning  flood  ; 
We  crept  from  danger  as  we  could, 
Then  yielded  to  the  mist  which  spread 
Before  our  eyes,  the  rock  our  bed, 
And  slept  as  only  they  may  sleep, 
Who  have  been  battling  with  the  deep. 


When  I  awoke,  the  morning  sun 
His  daily  course  had  just  begun  ; 
And  my  companion  slumbered  still ; 
But  yet  not  soundly,  fur  a  thrill 
Of  pleasure  oft  would  come  and  go 
On  his  thin  check  and  pallid  brow. 
Perchance  he  dreams  of  one  whose  name 
Quivers  within  my  heart  like  flame ; 
Perchance  he  now  in  fancy  presses 
Her  to  his  breast,  with  fond  caresses, 
And  hears  like  music  from  above, 
The  softly  thrilling  tones  of  love. 
It  maddened  me  to  think  that  she 
Should  be  beloved  by  such  as  he  ; 


THE    RIVALS.  175 

Had  I  been  he,  I  would  have  died, 
(I  muttered  in  my  scornful  pride,) 
Before  I  would  existence  owe 
To  one  whom  I  had  thwarted  so. 
He  still  slept  on,  rind  fearing  lest 
My  angry  words  should  break  his  rest, 
I  left  him  slumbering  on  the  shore, 
And  turned  me  inland  to  explore 
What  glorious  shapes  or  beings  vile, 
Dwelt  on  that  rock-engirdled  isle. 


Hour  after  hour  I  toiled  in  vain 
To  gain  the  summit  of  the  chain 
Of  lofty  rocks,  which  boldly  stand 
Around  that  wave-encircled  land, 
Like  knights  of  old  with  weapons  bare, 
Around  the  Fairest  of  the  Fair, 
A  dauntless  few,  among  a  rude 
And  weak  and  cowardly  multitude, 
Bearing  them  back  with  lance  in  rest, 
Stern,  silent,  cool  and  self-possessed. 
At  length  I  reached  the  highest  peak  j 
And  lo  !  the  scene — but  words  are  weak 
To  picture  such  a  vision  bright 
As  spread  before  my  raptured  sight  ; 


176  THE    RIVALS. 

Valleys,  and  hills,  and  mighty  trees 

Which  there  had  grown  for  centuries  ; 

And  tiny  streams,  which  flowed  in  mirth, 

The  sunbeams  of  a  radiant  earth  ! 

And  sparkling  lakes,  which  shone  like  stars  : 

And  sunshine,  which  in  golden  cars 

Fled  lightly  'fore  the  chasing  wind, 

Like  hope's  bright  visions  through  the  mind  : 

But  not  a  human  form  appeared  : 

No  mighty  fane,  nor  palace,  reared 

Its  haughty  head  against  the  sky  ; 

No  humble  cottage  tm.idly 

Raised  its  meek  forehead  from  the  earth, 

As  if  it  had  no  right  to  be, 
And  those  who  crowded  round  its  hearth 

Were  born  for  chains  and  misery ; 
It  seemed  as  if  no  foot  of  man 
Had  ever  stamped  the  primal  ban 
Upon  the  fair,  angelic  brow 

Of  that  meek,  Eden-featured  isle  ; 
.     As  if  no  earthly  eye  till  now, 

Its  perfect  beauty  might  defile  : 
And  as  I  left  my  mountain  height, 
And  wandered,  filled  with  calm  delight, 
Within  the  valley's  beauteous  shade, 
A  moment  on  my  spirit  weighed 


THE    RIVALS.  177 

The  sad'ning  thought,  that  with  me  came 
A  spark  of  that  destroying  flame, 
Which  o'er  the  earth  so  oft  has  spread 
With  rapid  and  vindictive  tread, 
Blasting  the  beauty  God  has  given 
To  make  this  world  a  second  heaven. 


I  found  at  length  a  fitting  spot, 

And  built  myself  a  little  cot 

To  shield  me  from  the  midnight  dew, 

And  thus  I  passed  my  days  : 
In  the  fresh  morning,  I  would  woo 

The  rising  sun's  health-giving  rays, 
And  scan  the  ocean's  circling  blue, 
Hoping  the  gleam  would  meet  my  view 

Of  an  approaching  sail ; 
Then  as  the  sun  went  up  the  sky, 
Inio  the  forest  would  I  fly, 

And  bid  its  cool  recesses  hail ! 
When  evening  came  with  timid  tread, 
Covered  o'er  with  rosy  red, 
Like  a  newly-wedded  bride 
Blushing  to  her  lover's  side, 
With  a  starry  diamond  sparkling 

On  her  gently-swelling  breast, 


178  THE    RIVALS. 

Growing  bolder  with  the  dark'ning, 
Now  caressing  and  carest, 

Then  I  sought  the  open  valley, 

And  the  loud  resounding  shore, 

Heard  the  billows'  distant  rally, 
And  their  dull  and  heavy  roar. 


Another  cottage  also  stood 

Now  on  that  fair  enchanted  isle  j 
Mine  in  the  shadow  of  a  wood 

Was  reared  ;  his  in  the  brazen  smile 
Of  the  bold  sun,  upon  a  green 
Level  and  smooth  as  e'er  was  seen, 
Where  not  a  tree  with  breezy  play 
Fanned  the  heated  brow  of  day  ; 
And  there  he  had  enclosed  a  space 
From  the  sweet  quiet  of  the  place, 
For  living  being  there  was  none 
Whose  presence  he  had  need  to  shun, 
And  gathered  in  its  narrow  bound 
All  that  with  keenest  search  he  found, 
By  careful  nature  kindly  lent 
For  raiment  or  for  nourishment. 
He  wandered  oft  that  island  round, 
With  sharp  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground, 


THE    RIVALS.  179 

Exploring  each  sequestered  haunt, 
For  herb  of  power  and  useful  plant, 
And  bearing  them  with  pride  away, 
Elated  with  his  petty  prey. 
I  smiled  in  scorn  to  see  him  tread 
Where  all  around  and  overhead, 
Nature  had  graven  words  of  might, 
Of  holy  promise  and  delight, 
Unconscious  of  the  shapes  which  press 
With  airy  tread  the  wilderness, 
But  cannot  their  sweet  message  tell 

Until  the  mortal  of  their  love, 
Breaks  with  his  quick  desire  the  spell, 

And  with  them  mounts  to  realms  above. 
Hark !  even  now  I  hear  their  song, 
Shrinking,  as  it  floats  along, 
From  the  rugged  voice  of  day  : 
"  Weary  mortal !  come  away  ! 
Leave  the  body  and  its  cares, 
Leave  its  sorrows  and  despairs ; 
We  do  neither  toil  nor  spin. 
Yet  are,  mortal !  free  from  sin  ; 
We  are  useless  in  the  sight, 
Idling  thus  from  morn  till  night, 
Of  the  man  who  cannot  see 
Visions  of  eternity 


180  THE    RIVALS. 

Flashing  through  this  earthly  shroud, 
Like  the  lightning  through  a  cloud ; 
But  are  messengers  of  bliss 
Unto  him  who  feels  that  this 
Outward  world,  in  vapory  lightness, 
Rolls  before  the  eternal  brightness, 
Veiling  from  his  feeble  eyes 
The  dazzling  glory  of  the  skies !" 


Thus  months  flew  by  ;  and  not  a  word 
Of  joy  or  sorrow  ever  stirred 
The  still  air  of  that  lonely  isle ; 
We  met,  and  passed,  without  a  smile, 
Without  a  glance  to  tell  that  we 
Were  children  of  one  family  : 
The  wild  bird,  floating  in  the  air, 
Turned  if  it  met  another  there, 
And  flew  in  joyful  circles  round 
The  glossy  treasure  it  had  found ; 
And  timorous  creatures  of  the  wood/ 
A  moment's  space  uncertain  stood, 
Then  to  each  other's  side  drew  nigh 
With  mute,  unconscious  sympathy  ; 
But  we  with  scornful  glance  drew  back 
From  one  another's  hated  track, 


THE    RIVALS.  181 

And  turned  with  hasty  steps  aside; 
Whene'er  we  heard  the  well-known  stride. 


I  said  that  we  had  never  spoken  : 

I  had  forgotten — once  we  met 
When  words  of  sorrow  would  have  broken 
From  lips  where  nature's  seal  was  set. 
It  was  upon  a  rocky  height, 
Where  every  morning  with  the  light 
I  came,  to  sweep  with  eager  glance 
The  ocean's  spherical  expanse, 
Hoping  some  sail  would  meet  my  view 
Amid  the  vast  and  tiresome  blue, 
Like  a  white,  sunlit  wing  at  even, 
Flashing  in  depths  of  the  eastern  heaven ! 
That  morn  my  foe  had  also  sought 
The  ocean  with  accordant  thought ; 
And,  as  he  passed  me  carelessly, 
Still  gazing  on  the  distant  sea, 
He  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  cried 
"  A  sail !   a  sail !"  forgot  was  pride — 
Forgot  was  every  feeling  then 
But  longing  for  our  fellow  men  : 
Wre  waved  our  garments  in  the  air ; 
At  first,  with  hope  j  then,  with  despair  j 
16 


182  THE    RIVALS. 

For  still  the  vessel  kept  her  way 

Right  onward  through  the  glistening  spray, 

Bounding  along  the  heaving  sea, 

With  light  and  graceful  witchery  ; 

And  then  we  shouted,  long  and  loud; 

But  still  she  passed  on,  like  a  cloud, 

A  fairy  cloud  !  that  speeds  along 

Unto  the  west  wind's  happy  song, 

Unmindful  that  sad  hearts  are  aching, 

Weak  spirits  faltering,  strong  ones  breaking, 

So  filled  with  its  own  blessed  lot, 

That  others'  sorrows  are  forgot 


A  year  passed  by  ;  I  had  become 
Contented  with  my  island  home ; 
'Tis  true  I  longed  at  times  to  stand 
Again  upon  my  native  land, 
And  every  morning  as  before, 
I  early  sought  the  ocean  shore. 
And  woe  to  him  who  from  his  heart 
Can  madly  pluck  that  better  part, 
And  fling  it  carelessly  aside  : 
For  soon  that  cottage,  once  his  pride, 
Will  lose  the  charm  that  made  it  dear ; 
No  more,  upon  his  tuneless  ear, 


THE    RIVALS.  183 

Will  fall  the  soothing  strains  of  love ; 
And  o'er  the  wide  world,  like  the  Dove 
O'er  the  earth-covering  waters,  he  shall  fly, 
And  find  no  rest  from  its  immensity ! 
But  time,  though  it  had  worn  the  chain 
Which  bound  me  to  my  native  plain, 
Had  not  made  love  or  friendship  grow 
Between  me  and  my  hated  foe. 
We  met  within  the  wood  no  more, 
Nor  on  the  ocean's  rocky  shore  : 
One  half,  he  knew,  of  the  sweet  isle, 
Was  his,  to  sully  and  defile ; 
There,  he  might  slyly  creep  along, 
And  strike  the  minstrel,  while  his  song 
Was  gushing  from  his  ardent  throat, 
In  many  a  long  and  liquid  note, 
Winding  around  the  breathless  air, 
In  soft  melodious  folds,  its  fetters  fair. 
There,  trembling  things  might  steal  away, 
As  from  a  dreaded  beast  of*prey, 
Before  his  tread,  who  scrupled  not 
To  stain  with  blood  the  hallowed  grot : 
But  well  he  knew  that  half  was  mine, 
To  cherish  as  a  holy  shrine  j 
There,  prayers  ascended  morn  and  even, 
A  flood  of  song,  to  God  in  heaven  ! 


184  THE    RIVALS. 

I  walked  within  the  forest  shade, 

And  timid  beings  round  me  played : 

They  did  not  fear  the  tread  of  one, 

Who  never  any  harm  had  done 

To  them  or  theirs  ;  and  happy  birds 

Told  me  more  plainly  than  by  words, 

By  strains  which  gushed  out  wild  and  clear 

Whene'er  my  wandering  steps  came  near, 

Their  gratefulness  that  I  had  stood 

By  those  who  dwell  in  the  green  wood. 


One  day,  when  I  was  slowly  treading 
Along  a  valley,  fresh  and  green  ; 
Light  filmy  clouds  above  me  spreading, 

With  openings  of  deep  blue  between  ; 
Musing  upon  my  stormy  life, 
With  grief  and  love  and  passion  rife ; 
I  heard,  oh  heaven  !  can  it  be  true  ? 
What  seemed  a  distant,  faint  halloo  : 
It  is,  for  now  upon  the  breeze 
Comes  rolling  on,  through  startled  trees, 
An  answering  shout,  more  loud  and  clear  j 
And  in  the  distance  did  appear 
Three,  whose  loud  mirth  and  manners  bold, 
Of  the  wild,  changeful  ocean  told, 


THE    RIVALS.  185 

With  one  of  different  garb  and  mien  : 
I  saw  that  yet  I  was  unseen, 
And  hastened,  hardly  knowing  why, 
Into  a  grove  that  rose  close  by, 
And  stood  concealed  and  trembling  there : 
It  was  as  I  had  thought,  they  were 
Upon  the  search  for  me,  to  bear 
Me  from  my  solitary  home  : 
And  shall  I  leave  this  spot,  to  roam 
Again  among  the  heartless  crowd, 
The  mean,  the  thankless,  and  the  proud? 
This  beauteous  earth!   this  gorgeous  sky! 
These  waters  flowing  peacefully ! 
The  joyful  morn  !  the  evening  time ! 
The  mighty  wilderness  sublime  ! 
Shall  all  of  these  aside  be  hurled 
For  the  mad  music  of  the  world  ? 
But  then  before  me,  like  a  star, 
Flashed  a  bright  vision,  brighter  far 
Than  all  that  lavish  nature  showers 
In  splendor  from  her  skyey  towers : 
And  with  a  rapid  step  and  free, 
I  left  the  shade  exultingly, 
And  welcomed  with  a  joyful  smile, 
The  strangers  to  the  lonely  isle. 
16* 


186  THE    RIVALS. 

Once  more  upon  the  ocean  tide ! 
With  flashing  sail,  and  mast  of  pride, 
Quivering  with  life,  our  vessel  bore 
Right  onward  to  my  native  shore  ; 
Dashing  the  opposing  waves  apart 
With  fearless  prow,  and  lordly  heart; 
Like  a  besieged  and  gallant  band, 

Breaking  through  the  hostile  leaguer, 
Scattering  with  the  strong  right  hand, 

The  enclosing  ranks  of  the  besieger ! 
Like  a  bold,  oppressed  nation, 

In  a  false  and  faithless  age, 
Working  out  its  own  salvation 

'Mid  a  stormy  sea  of  rage  ! 


THE  RIVALS. 

PART  III. 

Oh  Time !  great  mother  of  both  joy  and  sorrow ! 

Like  origin  of  growth  and  of  decay  ! 
From  thy  glad  bosom  springs  the  sweet  to-morrow  j 

Within  thy  lap  died  tearful  yesterday. 
The  flower  of  morning  in  an  hour  is  blighted  : 

But,  ere  the  evening,  fragrant  roses  bloom  : 
Youth  sorrows  o'er  its  early  promise  slighted, 

But  bright-eyed  Fame  soon  dissipates  the  gloom. 
The  aged  die  and  leave  us  full  of  sadness, 

Within  our  hearts  its  sable  weeds  are  hung ; 
The  young  are  born,  and  fill  our  souls  with  gladness. 

And  to  the  breeze  joy's  sunny  folds  are  flung. 
The  fierce  desires  of  youth,  its  stormy  passion, 

Like  the  hot  lustre  of  the  bright  noonday, 
These  teachings  bless'd  of  joy  and  sorrow  fashion, 

Until  they  beam  with  sunset's  holy  ray. 

(187) 


188  THE    RIVALS. 

Year  after  year  had  passed  and  gone, 

Breeze  after  breeze  in  swiftness  on, 

Since  I  bad  leaped  upon  the  strand 

In  triumph  of  my  native  land. 

The  visions  of  my  youth  had  flown, 

And  left  me  doubly  now  alone. 

Yes,  like  the  smooth  and  silvery  sheen 

Of  waters  in  the  distance  seen 

By  him  who  wanders  faint  and  weary, 

Upon  some  desert  hot  and  dreary, 

They  melted  into  empty  air, 

And  left  the  calmness  of  despair. 

I  cared  no  more  that  I  had  found 

None  whom  I  might  with  joy  have  bound 

Unto  my  heart,  of  hearts,  until 

We  were  one  spirit  and  one  will. 

No !  these  were  fancies,  youthful  dreams, 

Gay  bubbles  on  funereal  streams, 

Which  flow  a  while  in  mist  and  glooin, 

Then  sink  in  earth  as  in  a  tomb. 


And  as  my  cherished  hopes  departed, 
And  left  me  faithless  and  cold  hearted, 
So  also  faded  from  my  mind 
That  hatred  undeserved  and  blind, 


THE    RIVALS.  189 

Which  in  my  better  days  had  spread 

Its  fatal  darkness  round  my  head. 

But  think  not  that  I  loved  him  more, 

Even  then,  than  I  had  done  before ; 

No  !   cold  indifference  had  press'd 

All  but  itself  from  out  my  breast. 

Once  only — it  was  long  ago, 

Before  my  heaven  had  lost  its  glow, 

I  wept  his  loss — was  it  not  mine  ? 

For  who  may  claim  a  thing  divine ! 

He  had  returned  from  the  lonely  isle 

To  find  that  death  had  been  busy  the  while  : 

The  sweet  white  rose  had  faded  soon ; 

Dying  like  a  heavenly  tune, 

Which  seemeth  not  to  know  decay, 

But  to  slowly  pass  away  ; 

Like  a  rosy  cloud  at  even 

Melting  softly  into  heaven  ; 

Like  a  star,  when  flees  the  night, 

Whitening  into  liquid  light ; 

Like  a  flake  too  pure  of  birth 

To  linger  long  upon  the  earth ! 

Yes,  as  days  and  months  passed  by, 

And  fears  gave  place  to  certainty, 

Leaf  by  leaf  the  white  rose  fell ; 

Till  one  morn  a  silvery  knell 


190  THE    RIVALS. 

Told  that  a  light  and  gentle  wing 

Had  sought  the  realms  of  endless  spring. 


Near  where  I  dwelt  there  was  a  stream 
Which  flowed  on  like  a  silvery  gleam, 
Along  whose  banks  I  oft  would  stray 
Unmindful  of  the  fleeting  day. 
Upon  each  side  dark  hills  arose, 
And  rocks  which  threatened  to  oppose 
Its  gentle  course,  but  then  repenting 
Of  their  harsh  purpose,  turned  relenting, 
And  left  a  pathway  wide  and  free 
For  that  young  child  of  liberty  ! 
So  wild  and  lonely  was  the  place, 
That  none  its  solemn  paths  could  trace, 
And  wonder  not  such  scenes  should  come 
So  near  the  city's  startling  hum. 
Alas  !  its  beauties  soon  will  fly  ; 
Dun  smoke  will  shroud  its  azure  sky  ; 
Its  giant  trees,  their  gloom  sublime, 
Like  all  the  gifts  of  the  olden  time, 
Its  hoary  rocks,  on  which  is  seen 
The  history  of  what  has  been, 
Even  the  dark  and  primal  mountains, 
The  valleys,  and  the  gushing  fountains, 


THE    RIVALS.  191 


Shall  disappear  from  day  to  day, 
Like  useless  gifts  shall  pass  away, 
For  man,  with  sordid  soul  and  dull, 
Reveres  no  more  the  beautiful ! 


One  day,  when  I  was  wandering  through 

This  lonely  vale,  where  something  new 

Seems  always  sure  to  meet  the  eye, 

Some  beauty  of  the  earth  or  sky 

That  you  have  never  seen  before, 

But  which  then  blossoms  evermore, 

I  met  a  child  whose  lovely  face 

Contrasted  so  with  that  wild  place, 

That  to  my  fancy  she  did  seem 

Twin  sister  of  the  gentle  stream. 

Her  eye,  from  'neath  its  lash  of  night, 

Shone  forth  at  times  so  purely  bright, 

That  the  light  of  Heaven  seern'd  streaming  through 

Its  liquid,  ever-deepening  blue  : 

Upon  her  neck  dark  curls  were  playing, 

Like  their  sweet  owner  ever  straying 

With  every  breeze  that  chose  to  dally 

In  the  cool  shade  of  that  wild  valley  ; 

And  through  her  face  her  soul  divine, 

As  through  a  cloud  the  soft  moonshine, 


192  THE    RIVALS. 

Shone  with  a  beauty  fairer  far 

Than  the  fairest  light  of  the  fairest  star, 

Fairer  than  aught  but  the  radiant  glance 

Of  its  own  unveiled  countenance. 

With  courteous  tone  that  fears  offence, 

And  many  a  vague  and  weak  pretence, 

I  overcame  her  diffidence ; 

And  soon  we  were  devoted  friends. 

That  fleeting  age  was  hers,  when  bends 

Above  the  slender  girl  a  sky 

In  which  she  looketh  eagerly  : 

For  stars  of  love  are  dimly  gleaming, 

And  shapes  of  beauty  haunt  her  dreaming, 

And  thrilling  tones  are  faintly  heard, 

And  the  deep  founts,  of  life  are  stirred 

By  breezy  thoughts,  that  come  and  go, 

Whither  alas  !   she  does  not  know  ; 

And  her  own  spirit  is  a  book 

In  which  she  first  begins  to  look, 

And  finds  strange  meanings  written  there, 

From  which  she  turns  with  sad  despair, 

But  soon  will  come  again,  and  try 

To  solve  the  words  of  destiny  ; 

And  solitude  begins  its  reign, 

With  gentle  musings  in  its  train  ; 


THE    RIVALS.  193 

And  she  is  full  of  hope  and  trust 
That  all  are  merciful  and  just, 
And  not  an  hour  of  life  is  dull, 
But  all  is  quick  and  wonderful ! 

Her  father's  dwelling  stood,  she  said, 
Where  that  slight  broken  pathway  led  ; 
He  was  a  farmer  now,  though  they 

Once  dwelt  within  the  crowded  town, — 
She  liked  it  not,  she  could  not  stray 

As  she  could  here,  by  dale  and  down  : 
"  My  mother  died,  alas!"  said  she, 
"  When  I  was  in  my  infancy  ;" 
And  though  her  sire  was  very  dear, 
She  wished  her  mother  still  were  here, 
"  It  were  so  sweet  to  have  some  one 
To  talk  with  when  the  day  was  done." 

Day  after  day  I  met  the  maid  ; 
Month  after  month  with  her  I  strayed 
Along  that  valley  lone  and  wild, 
As  would  a  father  with  his  child. 
Oh,  it  was  such  delight  to  see 

The  quick  unfolding  of  her  powers  ; 
Like  rose-buds  opening  rapidly 

Beneath  alternate  sun  and  showers. 

17 


194  THE    RIVALS. 

She  longed  for  knowledge  with  a  thirst 

I  could  not  satisfy  at  first, 

For  in  each  tree,  and  herb,  and  sound, 

Something  mysterious  was  found  : 

But  for  her  sake  I  sought  once  more 

My  boyhood's  soon-forgotten  lore. 

Nor  deemed  that  toilsome  which  could  throw 

New  radiance  on  her  radiant  brow. 


Sweet  Innocent !   she  little  knew, 
When,  with  her  wondering  eye  of  blue, 
She  gazed  upon  me,  as  I  told 
Things  always  new,  and  always  old, 
That  she  was  ever  teaching  me 
In  love,  and  truth,  and  purity  ! 
Oh !  never  till  before  me  lay 
That  breast  as  open  as  the  day,    . 
Into  whose  inmost  depths  my  eye 
Might  gaze  as  in  a  cloudless  sky, 
Had  I  perceived  the  selfishness, 
The  pride,  and  anger,  and  distress, 
Which,  a  chaotic  mass,  were  strewn, 
Within  the  discord  of  my  own. 
I  am  unworthy,  thus  I  said, 

To  be  beloved  by  one  so  bright ; 


THE    RIVALS.  195 

Soon  from  me  will  she  shrink  in  dread, 

Like  day  from  the  embrace  of  night, 
And  leave  me  desolate,  once  more, 
Upon  the  wide  world's  lonely  shore. 
And  then  I  sought  to  free  my  soul 
From  pride  and  passion's  fierce  control, 
And  banish  every  sinful  thought, 
And  every  wish  with  evil  fraught ; 
But  soon  I  sadly  found  that  they 
Had  taken  root  from  day  to  day, 
Until  it  seem'd  an  easier  part 
To  madly  pluck  up  my  whole  heart, 
Than  sever  from  its  native  earth, 
That  which  had  grown  there  from  my  birth. 


I  tried,  and  tried,  and  tried  again, 

To  purify  my  soul  in  vain  ; 

For  still  unholy  thoughts  would  come 

Unto  my  heart,  as  to  a  home ; 

And  when  I  hoped  that  they  had  vanished, 

Forever  from  my  presence  banished, 

They  came  again,  a  wilder  band, 

And  seized  the  sceptre  of  command, 

And,  in  a  moment,  swept  away 

The  fruits  of  many  a  watchful  day. 


196  THE    RIVALS. 

At  length  I  could  no  longer  bear 
My  ill  success,  and  in  despair 
I  wept  hot,  bitter  tears  ;  the  first 
Which  from  their  fiery  wells  had  burst, 
Since,  when  a  miserable  child, 
I  wandered  in  the  lonely  wild. 
I  wept,  and  then  I  calmer  grew, 
Ind  dried  my  tears,  and  gazed  anew 
Upon  the  scene  around,  which  caught 
The  brightness  of  a  sudden  thought : 
And  on  the  wave-like  ether  now, 
Which  circles  from  its  tuneful  prow, 
Floats  like  a  vision  of  the  morn, 
The  melody  of  a  distant  horn : 
It  was  a  tune  I  had  often  heard, 

The  tune  of  a  sad,  yet  joyful  lay, 
And  I  knew  the  ditty  every  word, 

For  'twas  sung  by  her  who  had  passed  away ! 
It  was  a  tale  of  an  Indian  bride, 
Who  had  fallen  by  her  lover's  side, 
Ere  the  words  of  faith  were  plighted, 
Ere  the  torch  of  joy  was  lighted, 
Stricken  in  an  instant  by 
The  arrow  of  Eternity. 
For  a  moment  the  bridegroom  stands, 
His  dark  face  quivering  'ncath  his  hands, 


THE    RIVALS.  197 

Then  he  kneels,  without  a  tear, 
By  the  side  of  that  maiden  dear, 
And  prays  to  Him  whose  word  has  power 
To  raise  the  dead  at  the  judgment  hour, 
That  He  will  melt  with  his  holy  breath 
The  icy  manacles  of  death, 
And  give  once  more  to  his  embrace, 
That  form  of  loveliness  and  grace. 
And  she  woke  as  from  a  gentle  trance, 
And  smiles  lit  up  her  countenance, 
Smiles  of  joy  as  she  saw  her  lover 
With  anxious  features  bending  over. 
"  Ask  of  Him,  and  it  shall  be  given, 

Ask  of  Him  who  is  ever  near ; 
Man  cannot  whisper,  but  in  Heaven 

Pitying  spirits  bend  to  hear !" 
Thus  that  soft  note  seemed  to  say, 
As  it  slowly  died  away : 
And  if,  I  thought,  who  reigns  above, 
'Will  grant  this  much  to  human  love ; 
If  He  will  touch  with  quickening  power 
The  early  nipped  and  withered  flower, 
And  make  it  once  again  to  bloom, 
And  fling  abroad  its  rich  perfume, 
Will  He  not  too,  restore  to  me 
My  childhood's  golden  purity  ? 

17* 


198  THE    RIVALS. 

And  then  within  my  bosom  came 
An  earnest  hope  I  could  not  name, 
I  feared  to  breathe  it  to  the  air, 
It  boldness  seemed  to  call  it  prayer, 
That  He  would  aid  me  to  control 
The  pride  and  passion  of  my  soul, 
That  I  might  be  as  pure  and  mild 
And  innocent  as  that  dear  child. 


Day  after  day  we  wandered  still 

Through  woods  and  by  the  stream  at  will ; 

I,  minist'ring  unto  the  blind 

Though  keen  desires  of  her  quick  mind  ; 

She,  teaching  me  with  gentle  art, 

The  holy  mysteries  of  the  heart. 

And  when  within  my  bosom  shone 

A  sinful  thought,  now  there,  now  gone, 

Like  the  thin,  quivering  flame  which  plays 

Before  the  bright  and  ruddy  blaze, 

I  thought  of  that  sweet  Indian  ditty, 

And  Him  who  is   forever  nigh, 
Full  of  power,  and  full  of  pity, 

Waiting  but  the  repentant  sigh, 
And  from  my  heart  all  passion  fled, 
And  left  me  calm  and  quieted. 


THE    RIVALS.  199 

One  morning  when  with  loitering  tread 

I  wandered  through  the  dewy  shade, 
Along  the  winding  path  which  led 

Round  craggy  rocks,  to  the  smooth  glade 

Which  we  our  trysting-place  had  made, 
I  heard  a  sudden  scream,  and  then 
A  splash,  and  all  was  still  again. 
Trembling  with  fear,  I  hurried  on 
Until  the  open  glade  was  won, 
And  dashing  through  a  woody  screen, 

I  gained  the  water  side,  and  there 
For  scarce  a  moment,  saw  the  sheen 

Of  a  white  hand  and  forehead  fair  ; 
And  must  she  die,  so  pure  and  young ! 
Fearful  I  was  too  late,  I  sprung 
Into  the  stream,  like  one  who  braves 
For  pearly  spoils  the  ocean    caves  ; 
And  soon  I  saw  her,  with  one  hand 

Grasping  a  water-flower,  the  other 
Beneath  her  face,  while  on  the  sand 

As  on  the  bosom  of  a  mother, 
She  lay  as  in  a  gentle  sleep : 
It  was  a  sight  to  make  you  weep 
And  smile  by  turns,  to  see  that  she 
Could  slumber  thus,  so  peacefully  ! 


200  THE    RIVALS. 

'Twixt  life  and  death  ;  and  as  I  bore 
Her  passive  limbs  unto  the  shore, 
Her  pale  hand,  with  convulsive  power, 
Still  grasped  that  fragile  water  flower  : 
And  while  she  clung  to  that,  I  knew 
Her  spirit  to  the  earth  clung  too. 

With  footsteps  swift  I  bore  the  maid 

Through  the  wild  paths,  where  we  had  strayed 

So  gayly  but  the  day  before, 

Until  I  reached  her  father's  door ; 

And  entered  in,  and  on  the  floor 

Laid  rny  sweet  burden  :  then  a  cry 

Of  sharp  surprise  and  agony 

Burst  from  the  household,  but  I  said, 

"  Be  still !  the  maiden  is  not  dead  :" 

And  then  the  tumult  ceased,  and  all 

But  two  old  servants  left  the  hall ; 

And  they  with  tears  beside  her  knelt, 

And  chafed  her  snowy  limbs,  until 
The  frozen  blood  did  slowly  melt, 

And  through  her  veins  began  to  thrill ; 
And  then  I  knew  she  would  not  die, 
And  the  quick  tears  came  in  my  eye, 
And  I  thanked  him  whose  word  has  power 
To  save  ev'n  in  the  darkest  hour ; — 


THE    RIVALS.  201 

And  in  my  soul  I  heard  again 
The  burden  of  that  Indian  strain  : 
"  Ask  of  G-od,  and  it  shall  be  given, 

Ask  of  Him  who  is  ever  near ; 
Man  cannot  whisper,  but  in  heaven 

Pitying  spirits  bend  to  hear !" 
I  turned  to  leave  them,  but  before 
My  hopeful  step  had  gained  the  door, 
It  opened,  and  the  father  knelt 
By  his  unconscious  child,  and  felt 
Her  cold  pale  cheek,  and  paler  brow, 
Which  lay  beneath  his  hand  like  snow ; 
And  then  he  wept,  like  one  who  fears 
That  naught  is  left  for  him  but  tears. 


Oh  !  as  that  father  wept  above 
The  stricken  daughter  of  his  love ; 
Whom  I  too  loved,  with  love  as  wild 
As  ever  parent  felt  for  child  ; 
Our  mutual  sorrow  seemed  to  be 
A  bond  of  peace  and  sympathy. 
What  though  I  once  had  shrunk  away 

From  him  who  now  before  me  stood  ; 
I  had  grown  wiser  since  that  day, 

Through  her,  the  innocent  and  good ! 


202  THE    RIVALS. 

And  in  his  features  I  could  trace 

Some  slight  resemblance  to  her  face. 

A  moment — and  I  stood  beside 

The  maid,  and  cheerfully  replied 

Unto  his  sad,  desponding  look, 

"  She  will  not  die  !"  and  then  he  took 

My  hands  in  his,  and  faltering  told, 

With  thanks  that  would  not  be  controlled, 

His  joy  that  I  was  near  to  save 

His  only  daughter  from  the  grave. 


Week  after  week  the  maiden  lay, 
And  knew  no  change  from  day  to  day  j 
We  watched  by  turns,  her  sire  and  I, 

By  her  low  bed  from  hour  to  hour ; 
Forgotten  was  our  enmity  : 

Love,  with  its  stronger,  holier  power, 
Had  driven  out  the  fiend  of  hate  : 
We  thought  not  of  our  former  state  ; 
We  only  thought  of  her  who  still 
Lay  waiting  the  eternal  will ; 
And  when  the  light  of  life  again 
Broke  like  a  pure,  bewitching  strain, 
From  her  sweet  face,  and  on  her  tongue 
Soft  tones  of  joy  enraptured  hung, 


THE    RIVALS.  203 

As  if  unwilling  to  depart 

From  their  harmonious  home,  her  heart, 

Our  mutual  joy  was  a  stronger  tie 

Of  love,  which  springs  from  sympathy, 

Than  even  our  mutual  grief  had  been  : 

And  we  would  oft  together  then 

Sit  by  the  bed  of  that  fair  girl, 

And  smiles  would  light  her  cheek  of  pearl, 

As  she  in  playful  thought  would  speak 

Of  her  two  fathers. 

Thus  the  bleak 
And  weary  winter  of  my  life, 

Was  melted  by  the  breath  of  spring ; 
And  from  the  elemental  strife, 

Came  beauty  and  sweet  blossoming ! 


THE    END. 


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«»M  NO.  DD6, 60m, ,  ^77ERS^^FA°;r2oBERKELEY 


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